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diff --git a/37584-h/37584-h.htm b/37584-h/37584-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..42761d4 --- /dev/null +++ b/37584-h/37584-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12451 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Crooked Mile, by Oliver Onions. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body {margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; } + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5 {text-align: center; + clear: both;} + +p {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + +hr {width: 65%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both;} + +table {margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto;} + +.pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right;} + +.blockquot {margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%;} + +.center {text-align: center;} +.right {text-align: right;} +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter {margin: auto; + text-align: center;} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; } + +.tnote {margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em; } + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Crooked Mile, by Oliver Onions + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Crooked Mile + +Author: Oliver Onions + +Release Date: October 1, 2011 [EBook #37584] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CROOKED MILE *** + + + + +Produced by Judith Wirawan, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="395" alt="Cover" title="" /> +</div> + +<h1>A CROOKED MILE</h1> + + +<h4>BY THE SAME AUTHOR<br /> +<small><span class="smcap">The Exception</span></small><br /> +<small><span class="smcap">Good Boy Seldom</span></small><br /> +<small><span class="smcap">The Two Kisses</span></small><br /></h4> + + + +<hr /> +<h1>A CROOKED MILE</h1> + +<h5>BY</h5> + +<h2>OLIVER ONIONS</h2> + +<h5>AUTHOR OF "THE TWO KISSES"</h5> + + +<h4><br /> +METHUEN & CO. LTD.<br /> +36 ESSEX STREET W.C.<br /> +LONDON</h4> + +<h4><i>First Published in 1914</i></h4> + + + +<hr /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" width="70%" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left"> </td><td align="center">PART I</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">CHAP.</td><td align="left"> </td><td align="right">PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">I</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Witan</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">II</td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">The Pond-Room</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">III</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The "Novum"</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">IV</td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">The Stone Wall</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">V</td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Three Ships</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">VI</td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Policy</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> </td><td align="center">PART II</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">I</td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">The Pigeon Pair</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">II</td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">The 'Vert</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">III</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Imperialists</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">IV</td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">The Outsiders</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">V</td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">"House Full"</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">VI</td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">The Soul Storm</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> </td><td align="center">PART III</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">I</td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Litmus</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_239">239</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">II</td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">By the Way</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_254">254</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">III</td><td align="left"><i><span class="smcap">De Trop</span></i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_274">274</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">IV</td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Grey Youth</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_285">285</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> </td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Tailpiece</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_307">307</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<h1>A CROOKED MILE</h1> + +<h2>I</h2> + +<h3>THE WITAN</h3> + + +<p>Lady Tasker had missed her way in the +Tube. She had been on, or rather under +known ground on the Piccadilly Railway as far as +Leicester Square, but after that she had not heard, +or else had forgotten, that in order to get to Hampstead +by the train into which she had stepped she +must change at Camden Town. Or perhaps she +had merely wondered what Camden Town supposed +itself to be that she should put herself to the trouble +of changing there. With the newspaper held at +arm's length, and a little figure-8-shaped gold +glass moving slightly between her puckered old eyes +and the page, she was reading the "<i>By the Way</i>" +column of the "Globe."—"All change," called the +man at Highgate; and, still unconscious of her +mistake, Lady Tasker left the train. She was the +last to enter the lift. But for an unhurried raising +of the little locket-shaped glass as the attendant +fidgeted at the half-closed gate she might have +been the first to enter the next lift.</p> + +<p>Only from the policeman outside Highgate Station<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> +did she learn that she must either take the Tube back +again to Camden Town or else walk across the Heath.</p> + +<p>Now Lady Tasker was seventy, and, with the +exception of the Zoo, a place she visited from time +to time with troops of turbulent great-nephews, the +whole of North London was a sort of Camden Town +to her, that is to say, she had no objection to its +existence so long as it wasn't troublesome. It was +half-past three when she said as much to the Highgate +policeman, who up to that time had been +an ordinary easy-going Conservative; by five-and-twenty +minutes to four she had made of him a +fuming Radical. He was saying something about +South Square and Merton Lane. Lady Tasker +addressed the bracing Highgate air in one of those +expressionless and semi-ventriloquial asides that, +especially in a mixed company, always made her +ladyship very well worth sitting next to.</p> + +<p>"Merton Lane! Does the man suppose that +conveys anything to me?.... I want to know how +to get to Hampstead, not the names of the objects +of interest on the way!"</p> + +<p>The newly-made Radical told her that there +might be a taxi on the rank, and turned away to +cuff the ears of an urchin who was tampering with +an automatic machine. It was a wonder that +Lady Tasker's glare, focussed through the gold-rimmed +glass on a point between his shoulder-blades, +did not burn a hole in his tunic.</p> + +<p>Taxis at eightpence a mile, indeed, with the +house at Ludlow already full of those children of +Churchill's, and three of Tony's little girls eating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> +their way through the larder in Cromwell Gardens, +and young Tommy, Emily's boy, who had just +"pulled" his captaincy, arriving at Southampton +in the "Seringapatam" on Saturday with another +batch for her to take under her wing! Did people +suppose she was made of money?...</p> + +<p>The policeman's tunic was just beginning to scorch +when Lady Tasker, dropping the glass, turned away +and set out for Hampstead on foot.</p> + +<p>She might very well have been excused had she +omitted to return Mrs. Cosimo Pratt's call. Indeed +she had vowed that very morning that nothing +should drag her up to Hampstead that day. But +for twenty times that Lady Tasker said "I will +not," nineteen she repented and went, taking out +the small change of her magnanimity when she got +there. And after all, she would be killing two birds +with one stone, for her niece Dorothy also lived +somewhere in this northern Great Karroo, and +unless she got these things over before the "Seringapatam" +dropped anchor on Saturday there was no +knowing when next she would have an hour to call +her own. As she turned (after a brush with a second +policeman, who summed her up quite wrongly on +the strength of her antiquated pelisse and trailing +old Victorian hat) down Merton Lane to the ponds, +she told herself again that she was a foolish old +woman to have come at all.</p> + +<p>For the Cosimo Pratts were not bosom friends of +hers. True, they had been, until six months ago, +her neighbours at Ludlow, and for that matter she +had known young Cosimo's people for the greater<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +part of her life: but she had not forgotten the +hearty blackguarding the young couple had got, +any time this last two years, from the rest of +the country-side. Small wonder. What else +did they expect, after the way in which they +had made farm-labour too big for its jacket and +beaters hardly to be had for love or money? +Not that Lady Tasker herself had seen very much +of their antics. Great-nieces and nephews had +kept her too busy for that, and she was moreover +wise enough not to believe all she heard. And +even were it true, that, she now told herself, had +been in the country. They would have to behave +differently now that they had let the Shropshire +house and had come to live in town. They could +hardly dance barefoot round a maypole in Hampstead, +or stage-manage the yearly Hiring-Fair for +the sake of the "Daily Speculum" photographer +(as they had done in Ludlow), or group themselves +picturesquely about the feet of the oldest inhabitant +while that shocking old reprobate with the splendid +head recited (at five shillings an hour) the stories of +old, unhappy, far-off things he had learned by heart +from the booklets they had printed at the Village +Press. No: in London they would almost certainly +have to do as other people did, and Shropshire, +after its three years of social and artistic awakening, +would no doubt forget all about the æsthetic revival +and would sink back into a well-earned rest.</p> + +<p>It was a Thursday afternoon in September, +warm for the time of the year, and a half-day +closing for the shops. Had Lady Tasker remembered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +the half-holiday she certainly would not +have come. She hated crowds, and, if you would +believe her, had no illusions whatever about the +sanctity of our common nature and the brotherhood +of man. She would tell you roundly that +there was far too much aimless good-nature in the +world, and that every sob wasted over a sinner +was something taken away from the man who, if +he was a sinner too, had at least the decency to +keep up appearances. And so much for brotherhood. +Great-nephewship, of course, was another matter. +Somebody had to look after all those youngsters, +and if her sister Eliza, the one at Spurrs, went +into a tantrum about every bud that was picked +in the gardens and every chair-leg that was an +inch out of its place in the house, so much the +worse for Lady Tasker, who must walk because +she had something else to do with her money than +to waste it on taxis.</p> + +<p>She had been told by her niece Dorothy to look +out for a clump of tall willows and an ivied chimney; +that was where the Pratts lived; but Dorothy +had spoken of the approach from the Hampstead +side, not from Highgate way. Lady Tasker got +lost. She was almost dropping for want of a cup +of tea, and the Heath seemed all willows, and +all the wrong ones. No policeman, Radical or +Conservative, was to be seen. Walking across +an apparently empty space, well away (as she +thought) from a horde of shouting boys, the old +lady suddenly found herself enveloped in a game +of football. This completed her exhaustion. Near<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +by, one of Messrs. Libertys' carts was ascending +a steep road at a slow walk; somehow or other +Lady Tasker managed to get her hand on the tail +of it; and the car gave her a tow. She was seventy +after all.</p> + +<p>As it happened, that was her first piece of luck +in a luckless afternoon. The cart drew on to the +left; Lady Tasker trailed after it; and suddenly +it stopped before a high privet hedge with a closed +green door in the middle of it. Lady Tasker did +not look for the ivied chimney. On the door was +painted in white letters "The Witan." She was +where she wanted to be.</p> + +<p>Ordinarily Lady Tasker would have approved of +the height of the privet hedge, which was seven or +eight feet; that was a nice, reassuring, anti-social +height for a hedge; but as it was she could not +even put up her hand to the bell. The carter rang +it for the pair of them. Over the hedge came +the low murmur of voices and the clink of cups and +saucers, and then the door was opened. It was +opened by the mistress of the house. No doubt +Mrs. Pratt had expected the cart, had heard its +drawing up, and had not waited for a maid to come. +Her eyes sought the carman, who had stepped +aside. She spoke with some asperity.</p> + +<p>"It's Libertys', isn't it?" she said. "Well, +I've a very good mind to make you take it back. +It was promised for yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Can't say, I'm sure, m'm."</p> + +<p>"It's always the same. Every time I——"</p> + +<p>Then she saw her visitor, and gave a little start.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, it's Lady Tasker! How delightful! +Do come in! And do just excuse me—I shan't be +a minute.... Why didn't this come yesterday? +It was promised faithfully——"</p> + +<p>She stepped outside to scold the carman, leaving +Lady Tasker standing just within the green door.</p> + +<p>The altercation was plainly audible:</p> + +<p>"Very sorry, m'm. You see——"</p> + +<p>"I will see, if it occurs again——"</p> + +<p>"The orders is taken as they come, m'm——"</p> + +<p>"They said the first delivery——"</p> + +<p>"We wasn't loaded till one o'clock——"</p> + +<p>"That's none of my business——"</p> + +<p>"Very sorry, m'm——"</p> + +<p>"Well, the next time it occurs——"</p> + +<p>And so forth.</p> + +<p>Now in reading what happened the next moment +you must remember that Lady Tasker was very, +very tired. Had she been less tired she might +have wondered why one of the two maids she saw +crossing to the tea-table under the copper beech +had not been allowed to take in Mrs. Cosimo Pratt's +parcel. And she would certainly have thought +it extraordinary that she should be left standing +alone while Mrs. Cosimo Pratt scolded the carrier, +and wanted to know why the parcel had not been +brought yesterday. But, tired as she was, her +eyes had already rested on something that had +momentarily galvanized even the weariness out of +her. It was this:—</p> + +<p>Seven or eight people sat in basket-chairs or +stood talking; and, under the copper beech, as if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +Mrs. Pratt had just slid out of it, a hammock of +coloured string still moved, slung from the beech +to a sycamore beyond. Lady Tasker saw these +things at once; she did not at once see what it +was that stood just beyond the hammock.</p> + +<p>Then it moved, and Lady Tasker raised her glass.</p> + +<p>No doubt you have seen the cover of Mr. Wells's +"Invisible Man." It will be remembered that +all that can be seen of that afflicted person is his +clothes; and all that Lady Tasker at first saw of +the Invisible Man by the copper beech was his +clothes. These were of light yellow tussore, with +a white double collar and a small red tie, sharp-edged +white cuffs and highly polished brown boots. +At collar and cuffs the man ended.</p> + +<p>And yet he did not end, for the lenses of a pair +of spectacles made lurking lights in the shadow +of the beech, a few inches above the white collar.</p> + +<p>The phantom wore no hat.</p> + +<p>Then Lady Tasker, suddenly pale, dropped her +glass. Between the collar and the spectacles a +white gash of teeth had appeared. The Invisible +Man had smiled, and at the same moment there +had shown round the bole of the beech a second +smoky shape, this one without teeth, but with +white and mobile eyes instead.</p> + +<p>Lady Tasker was in the presence of two Hindoos.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Now all her life, and long before her life for that +matter, Lady Tasker had been accustomed ... but +no: that is not the way to put it. The following +table will save many words:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> + +<h4>PORTION OF TREE OF THE LENNARDS AND TASKERS<br /> +(<span class="smcap">Comments by Lady Tasker</span>)</h4> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 840px;"> +<img src="images/familytree.jpg" width="840" height="442" alt="Family Tree" title="" /> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> + +<p>You see how it was, and had to be. Not only +was Lady Tasker insular, arrogant, and of opinion +that Saint Paul made the mistake of his life when +he set out to preach the Gospel to all nations, but +she made a virtue of her narrowness and defect. +Show her a finger-nail with a purple half-moon, and +you no longer saw a charming if acid-tongued old +English lady, who cut timber in order to pay for +governesses for those grandchildren of Emily's +and sent, under guise of birthday gifts, useful little +cheques to the descendants of her brother-in-law +the groom. Babu or Brahmin, all were the same +to her. No defence is offered of an attitude so +indefensible. Such people do still exist. Let us +sigh for their narrowness of mind, and pass on.</p> + +<p>The smile of the first Hindoo was for Mrs. Pratt, +who had got her row with the carman over and +had reappeared behind Lady Tasker and closed +the door of The Witan again. Her face, pretty +and finished as a miniature, and the great chestnut-red +helm of her hair, showed over the slant of the box +in her arms. "Do excuse me, just <i>one</i> moment!" +she said, smiling at Lady Tasker as she passed; +and she ran off into the house, her mistletoe-berry +white robe with its stencilling of grey-green whipping +about her heels as she did so. And fortunately, +as she ran in at the door, Cosimo Pratt came out +of the French window, saw Lady Tasker, and +strode to her. He broke into rapid and hearty +speech.</p> + +<p>"You here! How delightful!—Amory!—I +didn't hear you come! So kind of you!—Amory,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +where are you?—How are you? Do let me get +you some tea!—Amory!——"</p> + +<p>Lady Tasker spoke faintly.—"I should like," +she said, "to go into the house."</p> + +<p>"Rather! Hang on to my arm.—Amory! +Where is that girl?—Sure you won't have tea outside? +I can find you a nice shady place under +the beech——"</p> + +<p>Lady Tasker closed her eyes.—"Please take +me in."</p> + +<p>"Tube headache? I hate the beastly thing. +I thought you were in Ludlow. Charming of +you——"</p> + +<p>And he led Lady Tasker into the house.</p> + +<p>This was a low building of stucco, with slatted +window-shuts which, like the sashes of the slightly +bowed French window and of the two windows +beyond, were newly painted green. This painting +seemed rather to emphasize than to mitigate a +certain dogseared look the place had, not amounting +to dilapidation, but enough to make it probable +that Cosimo Pratt had taken it on a repairing +lease. The copper beech, the high privet hedge +and the willows beyond it, shut out both light and +air. The fan-lighted door had two electric bell buttons, +with little brass plates. The upper plate +read, "Mr. Cosimo Pratt"; the lower one "Miss +Amory Towers (Studio)."</p> + +<p>But Lady Tasker noticed none of these things. +In the hall she sank into the first chair she came +to. "Tea, please," she said faintly; and Cosimo +dashed out to get it. He returned, and began to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +murmur something sympathetic, but Lady Tasker +made a little movement with her hand. She didn't +want him to "send Amory." She only wanted +to rest her tired legs and to collect her dispersed +thoughts.</p> + +<p>An eight-foot hedge, not to shut the populace +out, but to shut Indians in! And she, Lady Tasker, +had been kept standing while some parcel or other +had been taken into the house—standing, and +watching a still-moving hammock with a smiling +Invisible Man bending over it! Was this England, +or a Durbar?... And even yet her hostess didn't +come to ask her if she felt better!... Not that +Lady Tasker was greatly surprised at that. She +knew that Mrs. Pratt was quite capable of reasoning +that the greatest respect is shown to a tired +old lady when no fuss is made about her tiredness. +The Pratts were like that—full of delicacies so +subtle that plain folk never noticed them, but +jumped instead to the conclusion that they were +bad-mannered. And it would not in the least +surprise Lady Tasker if, presently, Mrs. Pratt +allowed her to leave without a word about her indisposition. +Of course: Lady Tasker had a little +forgotten the Pratts at Ludlow. That would be +it: "Good-bye—and do come again!" She +could see Mrs. Pratt's pretty brook-brown eyes +did anybody (say a Japanese or an Ethiopian) point +out this so-called omission to her. She could see +the surprise in them. She could hear her earnest +voice: "<i>Say</i> these things!... Why, does she +suppose I was <i>glad</i> then?"...<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> + +<p>Yes, Lady Tasker had a little forgotten her Pratts.</p> + +<p>It was an odd little hall in which she sat. It +appeared to be an approach to the studio of which +the electric bell gave notice, for it was continued +by a narrower passage that led to a garden at the +back; and either the studio "properties" were +gradually thrusting the hatstand and hall table +out of the fan-lighted front door, or else these latter +ordinary and necessary objects were fighting as +it were for admission. Thus, the chair on which +Lady Tasker sat was of oak, but it had a Faust-like +look; beyond it stood a glass-fronted cupboard +of bric-à-brac, with a trophy of Abyssinian armour +hanging over it; and the whole of the wall facing +Lady Tasker was hung with a tapestry which, +if it had been the only one of its kind in existence, +would no doubt have been very valuable. And +two other objects not commonly to be seen in +ordinary halls were there. One of these stood on +the narrow gilt console table next to Lady Tasker's +cup of tea. It was a plaster cast, taken from the +life, of a female foot. The other hung on the wall +above it. This also was a plaster cast, of the whole +of a female arm and shoulder, ending with a portion +of the side of the neck and the entire breast—of +its kind an exquisite specimen. Many artists make +or buy such things, but Brucciani has nothing half +so beautiful.</p> + +<p>It was as Lady Tasker finished her tea that her +gaze fell on the two casts. Half negligently she +raised her glass and inspected, first the foot, and +then the other piece. It is probable that her first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +remark, uttered in a casual undertone to the air +about her, was prompted by mere association of +ideas; it was "Hm! I wonder if Mrs. Pratt +nursed those twins herself!" Any other reflection +that might have followed it was cut short by a +sudden darkening of the doorway by which she +had entered. Mrs. Pratt stood there. Lady +Tasker had been wrong. She <i>had</i> come to ask if +she felt better. She did ask her, gathering up long +swathes of some newly unpacked white material she +carried over her arm as she did so.</p> + +<p>"Sorry you were done up," she remarked. "Won't +you have some more tea?"</p> + +<p>Already Lady Tasker was rising.—"No more, +thank you.—I was just looking at these. What +are they?" She indicated the casts.</p> + +<p>The gesture that Mrs. Pratt gave she could +probably no more have helped giving than an eye +can help winking when it is threatened with a +blow. Within one mistletoe-white sleeve an arm +moved ever so slightly; very likely a foot also +moved within a curiously-toed Saxon-looking white +slipper; and she gave a confused and conscious +and apologetic little laugh.</p> + +<p>"Oh, those silly things!" she said deprecatingly. +"I really must move them. But the studio is so +full.... Do you know, it's a most horrid feeling +having them done—first the cold plaster poured +on, and then, when they take it off again—the +mould—you know——"</p> + +<p>Lady Tasker plainly did not understand. Perhaps +she did not yet even apprehend.—"But—but—,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +she said, "they're from a statue, aren't +they?"</p> + +<p>Again Mrs. Pratt gave the pleased bashful little +laugh. It was almost as if she said it was very +good of Lady Tasker to say so.</p> + +<p>"No, they're from life," she said. "As a matter +of fact they're me, but I really must move them; +they aren't so remarkable as all that.... Oh, +you're not going, are you?——"</p> + +<p>For Lady Tasker had given a jump, and a movement +as sudden and sprightly as if she had only +that moment got freshly out of her bed. Nervously +she put out her hand, while her hostess looked +politely disappointed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, and I was hoping you'd come and join us +in the garden! We've Brimby there, the novelist, +you know—and Wilkinson, the young Member—and +Mr. Strong, of the 'Novum'—and I should +so much like to introduce Mr. Suwarree Prang to +you——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you so much—," sprang as effusively +from Lady Tasker's lips as if she had been a schoolgirl +allowed for the first time to come down to +dinner, "—it's so good of you, but really I half +hoped you'd be out when I called—I only meant +to leave cards—I'm going on to see my niece, +and really haven't a moment——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm sure Dorothy'd excuse you for +once!——," Mrs. Pratt pressed her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, she wouldn't—I'm quite sure she wouldn't—she'd +never forgive me if she knew I'd been so +near and hadn't called," said Lady Tasker feverishly....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +"How do I get to Dorothy's from +here?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Wilkinson will take you, or Mr. Prang; +but are you sure you won't stay?"</p> + +<p>Lady Tasker was so far from staying that she +was already out of the hall and walking quickly +towards the green door in the eight-foot hedge. +"Thank you, thank you so much," she was murmuring +hurriedly. "I don't see your husband +anywhere about—never mind—so good of you—good-bye——"</p> + +<p>"Come again soon, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes—oh, yes!... No, no, please don't!" +(Mrs. Pratt had made a half-turn towards the +hammock and the copper beech). "Straight +across the Heath you said, didn't you? I shall +find it quite easily! Don't come any further—good-bye——"</p> + +<p>And, touching Mrs. Cosimo Pratt's extended +fingers as timorously as she might have touched +those of the cast itself, she fairly broke into a run. +The door of The Witan closed behind her.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> +<h2>II</h2> + +<h3>THE POND-ROOM</h3> + + +<p>The truth was not very far to seek: Lady +Tasker was too old for these things. Nobody +could have expressed this more effectively +than Mrs. Cosimo Pratt herself, had it entered the +mind of Mrs. Pratt to conceive that any human +soul could be so benighted as the soul of Lady +Tasker was. "Those casts!" Mrs. Pratt might +have cried in amazement—or rather Miss Amory +Towers might have cried, for there is nothing in +the Wedding Service about making over to your +husband, along with your love and obedience, the +valuable goodwill of a professional name. "Those +poor casts!... Of course they may not be <i>very</i> +beautiful—," here the original of the casts might +have modestly dropped her eyes, "—but such as +they are—goodness me! How <i>can</i> people be so +prurient, Cosimo? Don't they see that what +they really prove has nothing at all to do with +the casts, but—ahem!—a good deal to do with their +own imaginations? I don't want to use the word +'morbid,' but really!... Well, thank goodness +Corin and Bonniebell won't grow up like that! +Afraid of the beautiful, innocent human form!... +Now that's what I've always claimed, Cosimo—that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +that's the type of mind that's made all the +mischief we've got to set right to-day."</p> + +<p>But for all that Lady Tasker was too old. Invisible +Men in the garden (or, if not actually invisible, +at any rate as hard to be seen against the leaves +of the copper beech as a new penny would have +been)—and in the hall those extraordinary replicas! +In the hall—the very forefront of the house! It +was to be presumed that Mrs. Pratt's foreign +friends, who were permitted to lean over her hammock, +would not be denied The Witan itself, and, +for all Lady Tasker knew, the rest of Mrs. Pratt +might be reduplicated in plaster in the dining-room, +the drawing-room, and elsewhere....</p> + +<p>Had she not said it herself, Lady Tasker would +never have believed it....</p> + +<p>What a—what a—what an extraordinary thing!——</p> + +<p>Lady Tasker had fled from The Witan still under +the influence of that access of effusive schoolgirlishness +in which she had told Mrs. Pratt that she +really must go; nor did she grow up again all at +once. But little by little, as she walked, she began +to resume the burden of her years. She became +eighteen, twenty-five, thirty again. By the time +she reached the lower pond Arthur had just got +that billet in the India Office, and her brother +Dick, of the Department of Woods and Forests, +had married Ada Polperro, daughter of old Polperro +of Delhi fame, and her sister Emily had got +engaged to Tony Woodgate, of the Piffers. (But +those casts!)... Then as she took the path<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +between the ponds she remembered the children +at Ludlow, the three little girls at Cromwell Gardens, +and the arrival on Saturday of the "Seringapatam." +(But those natives!)... The thought +of the children settled it. Her curious lapse into +juvenescence was over. By the time she rang +Dorothy's bell she was the same Lady Tasker who +changed the political opinions of policemen and +deprecated the wanderings of Saint Paul.</p> + +<p>Dorothy's flat was as different as it could well be +from that other house which (Lady Tasker had +already decided) had something odd and furtive +about it—stagnant yet busy, segregated yet too +wide open. The flat had one really brilliant room. +This room did not merely overlook the pond in +front of it; it seemed actually to have asked the +pond to come inside. A large triple window occupied +the whole of one end of it; this window faced +west; and not only did the September sun shine +brightly in, but the inverted sun in the water shone +in also, doubling (yet also halving) all shadows, +illumining the ceiling, and setting the cream walls +a-ripple with the dancing of the wavelets outside. +Sprightly chintzes looked as if they also might begin +to dance at any moment; the china in Dorothy's +cupboards surprised the eye that had not expected +this altered light; and presently, to complete +the complexity, the shadow of the sycamore in +the little garden below would move round, so that +you would hardly be able to tell whether the ceaseless +creeping on the cream walls was glitter of +ripples, pattern of leaves, or both.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> + +<p>Dorothy sat in her accordion-pleats by the window, +surrounded by letters. And pray do not +think it mere coincidence in this story that her +letters were Indian letters. Some interests that +the home-amateur takes up as he might take up +poker-work or the diversion of jig-saw hold a large +part of the hearts and lives of others, and so Dorothy, +as she did more or less every week, had been +reading her cousin Churchill's letter, and that +of her little niece and namesake Dot, up in Murree, +and Eva Woodgate's, who had sent her a parcel +from Kohat, and others. She rose slowly as her +aunt was announced, and put her finger on the +bell as she passed.</p> + +<p>"How are you, auntie?" she said, kissing Lady +Tasker on both cheeks. "Give me your things. +Somehow I thought you might come to-day, but +I'd almost given you up. Do look what Eva's +sent me! Really, with her own to look after, I +don't know how she finds the time! Aren't they +sweet!——"</p> + +<p>And she held them up.</p> + +<p>Now Lady Tasker knew perfectly well the meaning +of her niece's accordion-pleating; but she +was seventy and worldly-wise again now. Therefore +as she looked at the things she remarked +off-handedly, "But they're far too small."</p> + +<p>"Too small!" Dorothy exclaimed. "Of course +they aren't. Why, Noel was only nine, and that's +pretty big, and Jackie only just over eight-and-a-half, +though he put on weight while you watched +him. They're just right."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lady Tasker reached for a chair. "But they +<i>are</i> for Jackie, aren't they?"</p> + +<p>Dorothy's blue eyes were as big as the plates +in her cupboards.—"Jackie! Good gracious, auntie!——"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" said Lady Tasker, sitting down. "Not +Jackie? Dear me. How stupid of me. Of course, +I did hear, but I've so many other things to think +of, and nobody'd suppose, to look at you——"</p> + +<p>Dorothy ran to her aunt and gave her a kiss and +a hug, a loud kiss and a hug like two.</p> + +<p>"You dear old thing!—Really, I'd begun to <i>hate</i> +all the horrid kind people who asked me how I felt +to-day and whether I shouldn't be glad when it +was over! What business is it of theirs? I nearly +made Stan sack Ruth last week, she looked so, +and I positively refuse to have a young girl anywhere +near me!... But wasn't it sweet of Eva? +I'll give you some tea and then read you her letter. +Indian or China?"</p> + +<p>"China," Lady Tasker remarked.</p> + +<p>"China, Ruth, and I'll have some more too. I +don't know whether His Impudence is coming in +or not; he's gadding off somewhere, I expect.... +But you weren't only <i>pretending</i> just now, were +you, auntie?——"</p> + +<p>She put the plug of the spirit-kettle into the +wall.</p> + +<p>"Well, how are the Bits?" Lady Tasker +asked....</p> + +<p>(Perhaps "His Impudence" and "The Bits" +require explanation. Both expressions Dorothy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +had from her "maid," Ruth Mossop. "Maid" +is thus written because Ruth was a young widow, +who, after a series of disciplinary knockings-about +by the late Mr. Mossop, was not over-troubled with +maternal anxiety for the four children he had left +her with. When asked by Dorothy whether she +would prefer to be called Mrs. Mossop or Ruth, +Mrs. Mossop had chosen the latter name, giving +as her reason that it had been like Mr. Mossop's +impudence to ask her to accept the other name at all; +and very many other memories also, brooded on +and gloomily loved, including the four children, +had been bits of Mr. Mossop's impudence. Stan +had adopted the phrase, finding in it chuckles of +his own; and so His Impudence he had become, +and Noel and Jackie the fruits thereof.)</p> + +<p>Dorothy put her fair head on one side, as if +she considered the absent Bits critically and dispassionately, +and really thought that on the whole +she might venture to approve of them.</p> + +<p>"Ra-ther little dears; but oh, Heaven, how +<i>are</i> we going to manage with a third!"</p> + +<p>Her aunt dissociated herself from the problem +with a shrug.—"Well—if Stan will persist in thinking +that his dressing-room is merely a room for +him to dress in——"</p> + +<p>"So I tell him," Dorothy murmured, with great +meekness. "But—but flats aren't made for +children. We did manage to seize the estate +agent's little office for a nursery when all the flats +were let, but when Stan brings a man home we +have to sleep him in the dressing-room as it is—,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +(Lady Tasker shook her head, but the words "Wrong +man" were hardly audible), "—and a house will +mean stair-carpets, and hall furniture, and I don't +know what else. Besides, Stan hasn't time to +look for one——"</p> + +<p>"No?" said Lady Tasker drily.</p> + +<p>"He really hasn't, poor boy," Dorothy protested. +"And he's after something really good +this time—Fortune and Brooks, the what-d'-you-call-'ems, +in Pall Mall——"</p> + +<p>"What about them?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Stan's been told that they pay awfully +good commissions, for introductions, new accounts, +you know; Stan dines out, say, and makes himself +nice to somebody with whole stacks of money, +and mentions Fortune & Brooks's chutney and +pickled peaches and things, and—and——"</p> + +<p>"I know," remarked Lady Tasker, with not +much more expression than if she had been a talking +doll and somebody had pulled the string that +worked the speaking apparatus. She did know +these dazzling schemes of her smart and helpless +nephew's—his club secretaryships, his projects for +journals that should combine the various desirable +features of the "Field" and "Country Life" +and the "Sporting Times" and "Punch," his +pony deals, and his other innumerable attempts +to make of his saunters down Bond Street to St. +James's and back <i>viâ</i> the Junior Carlton and Regent +Street a source of income. Perhaps she knew, +too, that Dorothy knew of her knowledge, for she +went on, "Well, well—let's hope there's more in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +it than there was in the fishing-flies—now tell me +what Eva's got fresh."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!" cried Dorothy, plunging her hand +into her letters. "Eva sent the things, but here's +Dot's first—look at the darling's writing!——"</p> + +<p>And from a sheet of paper with a regimental +heading Dorothy began to read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dearest Aunt Dorothy</span>,—</p> + +<p>"were in murree and we got a servant that +wigles his toes when we speak to him and he loves +baba and makes noises like him and there are +squiboos in the tres—"</p></div> + +<p>—(she means squirrels)—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"—and ive got a parrot uncle tony bought me +and uncle tony says the monsoon will praps fale +and the peple wont have anything to eat but weve +lots and i like this better than kohat the shops are +lovely but there are lots of flees and they bite baba +and he cries this is a long letter how are Jackie and +noel i got the photograf—"</p></div> + +<p>—(that's the new one on the mantelpiece)—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"—were going to tifin at major hirsts little girls +one is called marjorie and were great friends——"</p></div> + +<p>"Where's the other page got to? It was +here——"</p> + +<p>She found the other page, and continued the +reading of the child's letter.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + +<p>Suddenly Lady Tasker interrupted her.</p> + +<p>"Had Jack to borrow money to send them up +there?"</p> + +<p>"To Murree? I really don't know. Perhaps +he had. But as adjutant of the Railway Volunteers +he'd have his saloon."</p> + +<p>"H'm!... Anyway, the child oughtn't to +be there at all. India's no place for children."</p> + +<p>"I know, auntie; but what can one do? They +do come."</p> + +<p>"H'm!... They didn't to me. Thank goodness +I've done with love and babies." (Dorothy +laughed, perhaps at a mental vision of the houses +in Ludlow and Cromwell Gardens.) "Anyway, +now they are here somebody's got to look after them. +They may as well be healthy...."</p> + +<p>She mused, and Dorothy reached for other +letters.</p> + +<p>Lady Tasker's additions to her responsibilities +usually began in this way. Dorothy had very +little doubt that presently little Dot also would be +handed like a parcel to some man or other coming +home on leave, and Lady Tasker would send to +the makers for yet another cot.... Therefore, +pushing aside her last letter, she exclaimed almost +crossly, "I <i>do</i> think it's selfish of Aunt Eliza! +There she is, with Spurrs all to herself, and she +never once thinks that Jack might like to send +Dot to England!"</p> + +<p>"Neither would I if I had my time over again," +said Lady Tasker resolutely. "You needn't look +like that—I wouldn't. Cromwell Gardens is past<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +praying for, and in another year there won't be a +stick at the Brear that's fit to be seen. The next +batch I certainly intend to charge for. I'm on +the brink of the poorhouse as it is."</p> + +<p>This time it was Dorothy who mused. She +was a calculating young woman; the wife of His +Impudence had to be; and she was far too shrewd +to suppose for a moment that her aunt could ever +escape her destiny, which was to be imposed upon +by her own flesh and blood while hardening her +heart against the rest of the world. Dorothy, +and not Stan, had had to keep that flat going, +and the flat before it; unless Fortune & Brooks +turned up trumps—a rather remote contingency—she +would have to continue to do so; and she was +quite casuistical enough to argue that, while +Aunt Eliza might keep her old Spurrs, Aunt Grace +might properly be victimized because Dorothy +loved Aunt Grace. Therefore there were musings +in Dorothy's wide-angle blue eyes ... musings +that only the sound of a key in the outer lock +interrupted.</p> + +<p>"Hallo, that's His Impudence," Dorothy exclaimed. +"I do hope he hasn't brought anybody. +I shall simply rush out if he has."</p> + +<p>Stan hadn't. He came in at the door drawing +off a pair of lemon-yellow gloves, said "Hallo, +Aunt Grace," and rang the bell. He next said, +"Hallo, Dot! Been out? Beastly smelly in +town. No, I've not had tea. Look here, you've +eaten all the hot cakes; never mind; bread and +butter'll do, if you've got some jam—no, honey.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +Got an invitation for you, Dot, to lunch, with +Ferrers on Monday; can't you buck up and manage +it?... Well, Aunt Grace, what brings you up +here? Bit off your beat, isn't it? Awfully rude +of me, I know, but it is a long way. Glad I came +in."</p> + +<p>"I've been to see the Cosimo Pratts," said Lady +Tasker.</p> + +<p>Dorothy looked suddenly up.</p> + +<p>"Oh, auntie, you didn't tell me that!" she +exclaimed.</p> + +<p>A grin lighted up Stan's good-looking face.</p> + +<p>"Oh? How many annas to the rupee are they +to-day? By Jove, they are a rum lot up there! +Any new prime cuts?"</p> + +<p>"Stan, you mustn't!" said Dorothy, peremptorily. +"Please don't! Don't listen to him, +auntie; he's outrageous."</p> + +<p>But His Impudence went on, with his mouth +full of bread and butter.</p> + +<p>"I've only seen the fore-quarter and the trotter, +but you see I haven't been over the house. Did +they show you the Bluebeard's Chamber? What +is there there? By Jove, it's like Jezebel and the +dogs.... But I don't suppose they'll have me +up again. There was some chap there, and I got +him by himself and told him he didn't know what +he was talking about; rotten of me, I know, but +you should have heard him! Anarchist—Votes +for Women—all the lot; whew!... More tea, +Ruth, please——"</p> + +<p>Lady Tasker felt the years beginning to ebb<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +away from her again. She had remembered the +hammock and the Invisible Men.</p> + +<p>"I hope he was—English?" she murmured.</p> + +<p>"Who?"</p> + +<p>"The man you say you were rude to."</p> + +<p>"English? Yes. Why? English? Rather! +No end of gas about the Empire. Said it was on +a wrong basis or something. Why do you ask?"</p> + +<p>"I only wondered."</p> + +<p>But Stan was perspicacious; he could see anything +that was as closely thrust under his nose as +is the comparative rarity of the Englishman in +Hampstead. He laughed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that! We're used to that. We've all +sorts up here.... By Jove, I believe Aunt Grace +has been thrown into the arms of a Jap or a nigger +or something! Well, if that doesn't put the lid +on!... So of course you wondered what I meant +by the fore-quarter and Jezebel and the dogs. Those +are just some things they used to have.... Well, +I'll tell you what you can do about it next time, +auntie. You talk to 'em about Ludlow. That +shuts 'em up. Sore spot, Ludlow; they're trying +to forget about Ye Olde Englysshe Maypole, and +that row with old Wynn-Jenkins, and old Griffin +letting his hair grow and reciting those poems. +They look at you as if it never happened. But +they didn't shut <i>me</i> up."</p> + +<p>"You seem to have been thoroughly rude," +Lady Tasker remarked.</p> + +<p>"Well, dash it all, they ask for it. She used +to be some sort of a pal of Dorothy's——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She's very clever, and she was always very kind +to me," Dorothy interpolated over her sewing.</p> + +<p>"When, I should like to know? But never +mind. I was going to say, Aunt Grace, that I've +had to put my foot down. I won't have the Bits +meeting those kids of Pratt's. It's perfectly awful; +why, those children know as much as I do—and +I know a bit! They'll be wanting latchkeys +presently. That day I was up there I heard one of +'em say that little boys weren't the same as little +girls. I forget how she put it, but she knew all +right; think of that, at about four! I wish I +could remember the words, but it was a bit thick +for four!——"</p> + +<p>A restrained smile, perhaps at the thought of +Stan putting his foot down, had crossed Lady +Tasker's face; no doubt it was part of the smile +that she presently said, toying with the little gold-rimmed +glass, "Quite right, Stan.... Anything +fresh about Fortune & Brooks? Dorothy +told me."</p> + +<p>Stan's feelings on any subject were never so +strong but that at a word he was quite ready to +talk about something else. "Eh? Rather!" +he said heartily, and went straightway off at score.—New? +Yes. He'd seen old Brooks the day +before; not a bad chap at all really; and they +quite understood one another, he and old Brooks. +He'd told Stan things, old Brooks had, (which Stan +wasn't at liberty to disclose) about the commissions +they paid for really first-class introductions, +things that would astonish Lady Tasker!—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"You see," he explained, "as Brooks himself +said, they can't afford to advertise in the ordinary +way; <i>infra dig</i>. They'd actually lose custom if +they put an ad. in the 'Daily Spec.' I don't mean +that they don't put a thing now and then into the +right kind of paper, but just being mentioned in +general conversation, at dinners and tamashas +and so on, that's <i>their</i> kind of advertisement! +For instance—but just a minute, and I'll show +you——"</p> + +<p>He jumped up and dashed out of the room. +Lady Tasker took advantage of his absence to +give a discreet glance at Dorothy, but Dorothy's +head remained bent demurely over her work. Stan +returned, carrying a small parcel.</p> + +<p>"Here we are," he said, unfastening the package: +and then suddenly his voice and manner +changed remarkably. He took a small pot from +the parcel and set it on the palm of his left hand; +he pointed at it with the index-finger of his right +hand; and a bright and poster-like smile overspread +his face. He spoke slightly loudly, and +very, very persuasively.</p> + +<p>"Now I have here, Aunt Grace, one of our newest +lines—Pickled Banyan. Now I'm not going +to ask you to take my word for it; I want you to +try it for yourself. It isn't what this man says +or what that man says; tasting's believing. Give +me your teaspoon."</p> + +<p>"My <i>dear</i> Stan!" the astonished Lady Tasker +gasped.</p> + +<p>"We're selling a great many of this particular<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +article, and are prepared to stake our reputation +on it," Stan went on. "Established 1780; more +than One Hundred Gold Medals. Those are our +credentials. Those are what we lose.—Pass your +spoon."</p> + +<p>Lady Tasker was rigid. Perhaps Stan would +have been better advised to cast his spell over +those who were going up in the world, and not +on those who, like themselves, were coming down +or barely holding their own. Again he went on, +pointing engagingly at the small pot.</p> + +<p>"But just try it," he urged, pushing the pot +under his aunt's nose. "It isn't what this man +says or—I mean, it doesn't cost you anything to +try it. A free trial invited. Here's the recipe, +look, on the bottle—carefully selected Banyans, +best cane sugar, lemon-juice refined by a patent +process, and a touch of tabasco. The makers' +guarantee on every label—none genuine without +it—have a go!"</p> + +<p>With a "Really, Stan!" Lady Tasker had +turned away in her chair, revolted. "And do +you expect to go to a house again after an exhibition +like that?" she asked over her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" said Stan, a little discomfited. "Too +much salesman about it, d'you think? Brooks +warned me about that. Fact is, he had a chap in +as a sort of object-lesson. This chap came in—I +didn't know they had schools and classes for +this kind of thing, did you?—this chap came in, +and I was supposed to be somebody who didn't +want the stuff at any price, and he'd got to sell it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +to me whether I wanted it or not, and old Brooks +said to me, 'Now ask him how much the beastly +muck is,' and a lot of facers like that, and so we'd +a set-to.... Then, when the fellow had gone, +he said he'd had him in just to show me how <i>not</i> +to do it.... But he was an ingenious sort of beast, +and I can't get his talk out of my head. I'd thought +of having a shot at it to-night, but perhaps I'd +better practise a bit more first. Thanks awfully +for the criticism, Aunt Grace. If you don't mind +I'll practise on you as we go along. I'm dining +with a man to-night, but I'd better be sure of my +ground.—Now what about having the Bits in, +Dot?"</p> + +<p>"I think I hear them coming," said Dorothy, +whose demureness had not given as much as a +flicker. Perhaps she was wondering whether she +could spare the sovereign His Impudence would +presently ask her for.</p> + +<p>The door opened, and Noel and Jackie stood +there with a nurse behind them. Noel walked +stoutly in. Jackie, not yet very firm on his pins, +bumbled after him like an overladen bee.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> +<h2>III</h2> + +<h3>THE "NOVUM"</h3> + + +<p>Stan was quite right in supposing that the +Cosimo Pratts wished to forget all about the +Ludlow experiment that had disturbed the Shropshire +country-side a year or more before, but he was +wrong in the reason he assigned them. They were +not in the least ashamed of it. As a stage in their +intellectual development, the experiment had been +entirely in its place. Especially in Mrs. Pratt's +career—as an old student of the McGrath School +of Art, a familiar (for a time) with Poverty in +cheap studios, the painter of the famous Feminist +picture "Barrage," and so forward—had this been +true. Cosimo, in "The Life and Work of Miss +Amory Towers," a labour to which he devoted +himself intermittently, pointed out the naturalness +and inevitability of the sequence with real +eloquence. Step had led to step, and the omission +of any one step would have ruined the whole.</p> + +<p>But nobody with work still in them lingers long +over the past. They had dropped the task of +regenerating rural England, or rather had handed +it over to others, only when it had been pointed +out to them that capacity so rare as theirs ought +to be directed to larger ends. One evening there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +had put in an appearance at one of the Ludlow +meetings—a meeting of the Hurdy-gurdy Octette, +which afterwards gave instrumental performances +with such success at Letchworth, Bushey and +Golder's Green—Mr. Strong, the original founder +and present editor of the "Novum Organum," or, +as it was usually called, the "Novum." Mr. Strong, +as it happened, was the man whom the scatter-brained +Stan had met at The Witan, and of whom +he had expected that impossibility of any man +whomsoever—an admission that he did not know +what he was talking about. At that time Mr. +Strong had been perambulating the country with +a Van, holding meetings and distributing literature; +and whatever Mr. Strong's other failings might +have been, nobody had ever said of him that he +did not recognize a good thing when he saw it. +The Cause itself had served as an introduction +between him and Cosimo; it had also been a +sufficient reason for his inviting himself to Cosimo's +house for a couple of days and remaining there +for three weeks; and then he had got rid of the +Van and had come again. He was a rapturous +talker, when there was an end to be gained, and he +had expressed himself as strongly of the opinion +that, magnificent a field for the sowing of the good +seed as the country-side was, there was simply +stupendous propaganda to be done in London. +He knew (he had gone on) that Mrs. Pratt would +forgive him (he had a searching blue eye and an +actor's smile) if he appeared for a moment to +speak disparagingly of what he might call the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +mere graces of the Movement, (alluring as these +were in Mrs. Pratt's capable and very pretty +hands); it was not disparagement really; he +only meant that these garlands would burgeon a +hundred-fold if the stern and thankless work was +got out of the way first. Mr. Strong had a valuable +trick of suddenly making those searching blue eyes +of his more searching, and of switching off the +actor's smile altogether; both of these things had +happened as he had gone on to point out that what +the Cause was really languishing for was a serious +and responsible organ; and then, and only then, +when they had got (so to speak) the diapason, there +would be time enough for the trills and appoggiaturas +of the Hurdy-gurdy Band.</p> + +<p>Before the end of Mr. Strong's second visit Cosimo +had put up the greater part of the money for the +"Novum."</p> + +<p>So you see just where the feather-pated Stan +was wrong. The Cosimo Pratts were not outfaced +from anything; they had merely seen a new and +heralding light. They did not so much recede +from the Rural Experiment, and discussions of the +Suffrage, and eating buns on the floor at assemblies +of the Poets' Club, and a hundred and twenty other +such things, as become as it were translated. They +still shed over these activities the benignity of +their approval, but from on high now. Amory +could no longer be expected actually to "run" +the Suffrage Shop herself—Dickie Lemesurier did +that; nor the "Eden" (the new offshoot off the +Lettuce Grill)—that she left to Katie Deedes;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +nor the "Lectures on Love" Agency—that was +quite safe in the hands of her friends, Walter Wyron +and Laura Beamish. Amory merely shed approval +down. She was <i>hors concours</i>. She ... but you +really must read Cosimo's book. You will find +it all there (or at any rate a good deal of it).</p> + +<p>For Amory Pratt, in so far as Cosimo was the proprietor +of the "Novum," was the proprietor of the +proprietor of a high-class weekly review that was +presently going to put the two older parties out of +business entirely. She had more than a Programme +now; she had a Policy. She had crossed the line +into the <i>haute politique</i>. Her At Homes were already +taking on the character of the political salon, +and between herself and the wives of ministers +and ambassadors were differences, in degree perhaps, +but not in kind. And that even these differences +should become diminished she had taken on, ever +since her settling-down at The Witan, slight, but +significant, new attitudes and condescensions. She +was kinder and more gracious to her sometime +equals than before. She gave them encouraging +looks, as much as to say that they need not be afraid +of her. But it was quite definitely understood that +when she took Mr. Strong apart under the copper +beech or retired with him into the studio at the back +of the house, she must on no account be disturbed.—Mr. +Strong, by the way, always dressed in the +same Norfolk jacket, red tie and soft felt hat, and +his first caution to Cosimo and Amory had been +that Brimby, the novelist, was an excellent chap, but +not always to be taken very seriously.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> + +<p>Amory did not often put in an appearance at the +"Novum's" offices. This was not that she +thought it more befitting that Mr. Strong should +wait on her, for she went about a good deal with +Mr. Strong, and did not always trouble him to +come up to The Witan to fetch her. It was, rather, +if the truth must be told, that she found the offices +rather dingy. Her senses loved the newly-machined +smell of each new issue of the paper, but not the +mingled odour of dust and stale gum and Virginia +cigarettes of the place whence it came. Moreover, +the premises were rather difficult to find. They +lay at the back of Charing Cross Road. You +dodged into an alley between a second-hand bookseller's +and a shop where electric-light fittings were +sold, entered a narrow yard, and, turning to the +right into a gas-lighted cavern where were stacked +hundreds and hundreds of sandwich-boards, some +back-and-fronts, some with the iron forks for +the bearer's shoulders, you ascended by means +of a dark staircase to the second floor. There, at +the end of a passage which some poster-artist had +half papered with the specimens of his art, you +came upon the three rooms. The first of these +was the general office; the second was Mr. Strong's +private office; and the third was a room which, +the "Novum" having no need of it, Mr. Strong +had thought he might as well use as a rent-free +bedroom as not. The door of this room Mr. +Strong always kept locked. It was more prudent. +He was supposed to live somewhere in South +Kentish Town, and gave this address to certain of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +his correspondents. The letters of these reached +him sooner or later, through the agency of a barber, +in whose window was a placard, "Letters may be +addressed here."</p> + +<p>Perhaps, too, the extraordinary people who visited +Mr. Strong in the way of business helped to keep +Amory away. For an endless succession of the +queerest people came—contributors, and would-be +contributors, and friends of the Cause who "were +just passing and thought they'd look in," and +artists seeking a paper with the courage to print +really stinging caricatures, and article-writers who +were out of a job only because they dared to tell +the truth about things, and Russian political +exiles, and Armenians who wanted passages to +America, and Eurasians who wanted rifles, and +tramps, and poets, and the boy from the milkshop +who brought in the bread and butter and eggs for +Mr. Strong's breakfast. And out of these strange +elements had grown up the paper's literary style. +This was unique in London journalism: philosophical, +yet homely; horizon-wide of outlook, yet +never without hope that the shining thing in the +gutter might prove to be a jewel; and, despite +its habitual omissions of the prefix "Mr." from +the names of statesmen, and its playful allusions +to this personage's nose or the waist-measurement +of the other, with more than a little of the Revelation +of Saint John the Divine about it. "Damn" +and "Hell" were words the "Novum" commonly +used. Once Amory had demurred at the use of a +word stronger still. But Mr. Strong had merely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +replied, "If I can say it to you I think I can say it +to them." He was no truckler to his proprietors, +and anyhow, the man whom the word had encarnadined +was only a colliery-owner.</p> + +<p>The "Novum" had hardly been six weeks old +when a certain desire on Amory's part to make +experiment of her power had, putatively at any +rate, lost it money. The little collision of wills +had come about over the question of whether the +"Novum" should admit advertisements to its +columns or not. Now as most people know, that +is a question that seldom arises in journalism. A +question far more likely to arise is whether the +advertisements can be got. But when a journal +sets out to do something that hitherto has not only +not been done, but has not even been attempted, you +will admit that the case is special. The experience +of other papers is useless; their economics +do not apply. What did apply was the fact that +Mrs. Pratt had been an artist, looked on sheets +of paper from another angle than that of the mere +journalist and literary man, and loved symmetry +and could not endure unsightliness. Besides, "No +Compromise" was the "Novum's" motto, and +what was the good of having a motto like that if you +compromised in the very form of your expression?... +A "shoulder-piece," "<i>The Little Mary +Emollient</i>," had brought out all Mrs. Pratt's finer +artistic instincts. Here was a journal consecrated +to a great and revolutionary cause, and the very +first thing to catch a reader's eye was, not only +an advertisement, but a facetious advertisement at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +that—a Pill, without a Pill's robust familiarity—a +commercial cackle issuing from the "Novum's" +august and oracular mouth.... For the first +time in her life Mrs. Pratt had wielded the blue +pencil, tearing the rubbishy proof-paper in the +energy with which she did so. Mr. Strong's blue +eyes, bluer for the contrast with his red knot of +a tie, had watched her face, but he had said nothing. +He was willing to humour her....</p> + +<p>But when all was said and done he was an editor, +and no sooner was Amory's back turned than he +had restored the announcement. The paper had +appeared, and there had been a row....</p> + +<p>"Then I appeal to Pratt," Mr. Strong had said, +with all the good-nature in the world. "I take +it the 'Novum's' a serious enterprise, and not just +a hobby?"</p> + +<p>Cosimo had glanced a little timidly at his wife. +Then he had replied thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I'm not so sure. That is, I'm +not so sure it oughtn't to be a serious enterprise +<i>and</i> a hobby. The world's best work is always done +for love—that's another way of calling it a hobby—you +see what I mean—Nietzsche has something +about it somewhere or other—or if he hasn't Ruskin +has——"</p> + +<p>Any number of effective replies had been open to +Mr. Strong, but he had used none of them. Instead +his eyes had given as it were a flick to Amory's +face. The proprietor's proprietor had continued +indignantly.</p> + +<p>"It ruins the whole effect! It's <i>unspeakably</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +vulgar! After that glowing, that impassioned +Foreword—<i>this</i>! Hardly a month ago that lovely +apostrophe to Truth Naked—that beautiful image +of her stark and innocent on our banners but with +a forest of bright bayonets bristling about her—and +now <i>this</i>! It's revolting!"</p> + +<p>But Mr. Strong had himself written that impassioned +Foreword, and knew all about it. Again +he had given his proprietor's wife that quietly +humouring look.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that the 'Novum's' going to +refuse advertisements?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that I blue-pencilled that one myself."</p> + +<p>"And what about the others—the 'Eden' and +the Suffrage Shop and Wyron's Lectures?"</p> + +<p>"They're different. They <i>are</i> the Cause. You +said yourself that the 'Novum' was going to be +a sort of generalissimo, and these the brigades or +whatever they're called. They are, at any rate, +doing the Work. Is <i>that</i> doing any Work, I should +like to know?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Strong had refrained from flippancy.—"I +see what you mean," he had replied equably. +"At the same time, if you're going to refuse +advertisements the thing's going to cost a good +deal more money."</p> + +<p>"Well?" Amory had replied, as who might say, +"Has money been refused you yet?"</p> + +<p>Strong had given a compliant shrug—"All right. +That means I censor the advertisements, I suppose. +New industry. Very well. The 'Eden' and +Wyron's Lectures and Week-end Cottages and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +Plato Press only, then. I'll strike out that +'<i>Platinum: False Teeth Bought</i>.' But I warn +you it will cost more."</p> + +<p>"Never mind that."</p> + +<p>And so the incident had ended.</p> + +<p>But perhaps Mrs. Pratt's sensitiveness of eye +was not the only cause of the rejection of that +offending advertisement. Another reason might +have lain in her present relation with her sometime +fellow-student of the McGrath School of Art, Dorothy +Tasker. For that relation had suffered a change +since the days when the two girls had shared a +shabby day-studio in Cheyne Walk, Chelsea. At +that time, now five years ago, Amory Towers had +been thrust by circumstances into a position of +ignoble envy of her friend. She had been poor, +and Dorothy's people (or so she had supposed) +very, very wealthy. True, poor Dorothy, without +as much as a single spark of talent, had nevertheless +buckled to, and, in various devious ways, had contrived +to suck a parasitic living out of the wholesome +body of real art; none the less, Amory had conceived +her friend to be of the number of those who play at +hardship and independence with a fully spread table +at home for them to return to when they are tired +of the game. But the case was entirely changed +now. Amory frankly admitted that she had been +mistaken in one thing, namely, that if those people +of Dorothy's had more money, they had also more +claims upon it, and so were relatively poor. Amory +herself was now very comfortably off indeed. By +that virtue and good management which the envious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +call luck, she had now money, Cosimo's money, to +devote to the regeneration of the world. Dorothy, +married to the good-tempered and shiftless Stan, +sometimes did not know which way to turn for the +overdue quarter's rent.</p> + +<p>Now among her other ways of making ends meet +Dorothy had for some years done rather well out +of precisely that kind of work which Amory refused +to allow the "Novum" to touch—advertisements. +She had wormed herself into the services of this +firm and that as an advertisement-adviser. But +her contracts had begun in course of time to lapse, +one or two fluky successes had not been followed up, +and two children had further tightened things. Nor +had Stan been of very much help. Amory despised +Stan. She thought him, not a man, but a +mere mouth to be fed. Real men, like Cosimo, +always had money, and Amory was quite sure that, +even if Cosimo had not inherited a fortune from +his uncle, he would still have contrived to make +himself the possessor of money in some other way.</p> + +<p>Therefore Amory was even kinder to Dorothy +than she was to Dickie Lemesurier of the Suffrage +Shop, to Katie Deedes of the "Eden," and to Laura +Beamish and Walter Wyron, who ran the +"Lectures on Love." But somehow—it was a little +difficult to say exactly how, but there it undoubtedly +was—Dorothy did not accept her kindnesses in +quite the proper spirit. One or two she had even +rejected—gently, Amory was bound to admit, but +still a rejection. For example, there had been that +little rebuff (to call it by its worst name for a moment)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +about the governess. Amory had, in Miss Britomart +Belchamber, the most highly-qualified +governess for Corin and Bonniebell that money +and careful search had been able to obtain; Dorothy +lived less than a quarter of an hour's walk away; +it would have been just as easy for Britomart to +teach four children as to teach two; but Dorothy +had twisted and turned and had finally said that +she had decided that she couldn't put Amory to +the trouble. And again, when the twins had had +their party, Amory would positively have <i>liked</i> +Noel and Jackie to come and dance "Twickenham +Ferry" in those spare costumes and to join in those +songs from the Book of Caroline Ditties; but again +an excuse had been made. And half a dozen similar +things had driven Amory to the conclusion, sadly +against her will, that the Taskers were taking up +that ridiculous, if not actually hostile attitude, of +the poor who hug their pride. It was not nice +between old friends. Amory could say with a +clear conscience that she had not refused Dorothy's +help in the days when the boot had been on the +other leg. She was not resentful, but really it did +look very much like putting on airs.</p> + +<p>But of course that stupid Stanhope Tasker was +at the bottom of it all. Amory did not so much +mind his not having liked her from the first; she +would have been sorry to let a trifle like that +ruffle her equanimity; but it was evident that he +did not in the least realize his position. She was +quite sure, in the first place, that he couldn't afford +(or rather Dorothy couldn't afford) to pay eighty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +pounds for that flat, plus another twenty for the +little office they had annexed and used as a nursery. +And in the next place he dressed absurdly above +his position. Cosimo dressed for hygiene and +comfort, in cellular things and things made of non-irritant +vegetable fibre; but those absurdly modish +jackets and morning-coats of Stan's had, unless +Amory was very much mistaken, to be bought at +the expense of real necessaries. And so with their +hospitality. In that too, they tried to cut a dash +and came very near to making themselves ridiculous. +Amory didn't want to interfere; she couldn't plan +and be wise for everybody; she had her own affairs to +attend to; but she was quite sure that the +Taskers would have done better to regulate their +hospitality as hospitality was regulated at The Witan—that +was, to make no special preparation, but to +have the door always open to their friends. But no; +the Taskers must make a splash. They must needs +"invite" people and be a little stand-offish about +people coming uninvited. They were "At home" +and "Not at home" for all the world as if they had +been important people. But Amory would have +thought herself very stupid to be taken in by all +this ceremony. For example, the last time she +and Cosimo had been asked to the flat to dinner +she knew that they had been "worked off" only +because the Taskers had had the pheasants given +by somebody, and very likely the fish too. And +it would have been just like Stan Tasker's insolence +had he asked them because he <i>knew</i> that the Pratts +did not eat poor beasties that should have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +allowed to live because of their lovely plumes, nor +the pretty speckled creatures that had done no harm +to the destroyer who had taken them with a hook +out of their pretty stream.</p> + +<p>But, kind to her old friend as Amory was always +ready to be, she did not feel herself called upon to +go out of her way to be very nice to her friend's +husband. He had no right to expect it after his +rudeness to Edgar Strong about the "Novum." +For it had been about the "Novum" that Stan +had given Strong that talking-to. Much right +(Amory thought hotly) he had to talk! Just because +he consorted with men who counted their money +in rupees and thought nothing of shouldering their +darker-skinned brothers off the pavement, he thought +he was entitled to put an editor into his place! +But the truth, of course, was, that that very familiarity +prevented him from really knowing anything +about these questions at all. Because an order was +established, he had not imagination enough to see +how it could have been anything different. His +mind (to give it that name) was of the hidebound, +official type, and too many limited intelligences of +that kind stopped the cause of Imperial progress +to-day. Or rather, they tried to stop it, and perhaps +thought they were stopping it; but really, little as +they suspected it, they were helping more than +they knew. A pig-headed administration does +unconsciously help when, out of its own excesses, a +divine discontent is bred. Mr. Suwarree Prang +had been eloquent on that very subject one afternoon +not very long ago. A charming man! Amory<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +had listened from her hammock, rapt. Mr. Prang +did the "Indian Review" for the "Novum," in +flowery but earnest prose; and as he actually was +Indian, and did not merely hobnob with a few +captains and subalterns home on leave, it was to be +supposed that he would know rather more of the +subject than Mr. Stanhope Tasker!——</p> + +<p>And Mr. Stanhope Tasker had had the cheek +to tell Mr. Strong that he didn't know what he was +talking about!</p> + +<p>Amory felt that she could never be sufficiently +thankful for the chance that had thrown Mr. Strong +in her way. She had always secretly felt that her +gifts were being wasted on such minor (but still +useful) tasks as the "Eden" Restaurant and the +"Love Lectures" Agency. But her personal +exaltation over Katie Deedes and the others had +caused her no joy. What had given her joy had +been the immensely enlarged sphere of her usefulness; +that was it, not the odious vanity of leadership, +but the calm and responsible envisaging of a +task for which not one in ten thousand had the +vision and courage and strength. And Edgar +Strong had shown her these things. Of course, +if he had put them in these words she might have +suspected him of trying to flatter her; but as a +matter of fact he had not said a single word about +it. He had merely allowed her to see for herself. +That was his way: to all-but-prove a thing—to +take it up to the very threshold of demonstration—and +then apparently suddenly to lose interest in +it. And that in a way was his weakness as an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +editor. Amory, whom three or four wieldings of +the blue pencil had sufficed to convince that there +was nothing in journalism that an ordinary intelligence +could not master in a month, realized this. +She herself, it went without saying, always saw +at once exactly what Mr. Strong meant; she personally +liked those abrupt and smiling stops that +left Mr. Strong's meaning as it were hung up in +the air; but it was a mistake to suppose that +everybody was as clever as she and Mr. Strong. +"I's" had to be dotted and "t's" crossed for the +multitude. But it was at that point that Mr. +Strong always became almost languid.</p> + +<p>It was inevitable that the man who had thus +revealed to her, after a single glance at her, such +splendid and unsuspected capacities within herself, +should exercise a powerful fascination over Amory. +If he had seen all this in her straight away (as he +assured her he had), then he was a man not lightly +to be let go. He might be the man to show her +even greater things yet. He puzzled her; but he +appeared to understand her; and as both of them +understood everybody else, she was aware of a +challenge in his society that none other of her +set afforded her. He could even contradict her +and go unsacked. Prudent people, when they +sack, want to know what they are sacking, and +Amory did not know. Therefore Mr. Strong was +quite sure of his job until she should find out.</p> + +<p>Another thing that gave Mr. Strong this apparently +off-hand hold over her was the confidential +manner in which he had warned her not to take Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +Brimby, the novelist, too seriously. For without +the warning Amory, like a good many other +people, might have committed precisely that error.... +But when Mr. Brimby, taking Amory apart +one day, had expressed in her ear a gentle doubt +whether Mr. Strong was quite "sound" on certain +important questions, Amory had suddenly seen. +Mr. Strong had "cut" one of Mr. Brimby's +poignantly sorrowful sketches of the East End—seen +through Balliol eyes—and Mr. Brimby was +resentful. She did not conceal from herself that +he might even be a little envious of Mr. Strong's +position. He might have been wiser to keep his +envy to himself, for, while mere details of routine +could hardly expect to get Amory's personal attention, +there was one point on which Mr. Strong +was quite "sound" enough for Amory—his sense +of her own worth and of how that worth had hitherto +been wasted. And Mr. Strong had not been ill-natured +about Mr. Brimby either. He had merely +twinkled and put Amory on her guard. And +because he appeared to have been right in this +instance, Amory was all the more disposed to +believe in his rightness when he gave her a second +warning. This was about Wilkinson, the Labour +Member. He was awfully fond of dear old Wilkie, +he said; he didn't know a man more capable in +some things than Wilkie was; but it would be +foolish to deny that he had his limitations. He +wasn't fluid enough; wanted things too much +cut-and-dried; was a little inclined to mistake +violence for strength; and of course the whole point<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +about the "Novum" was that it was fluid....</p> + +<p>"In fact," Mr. Strong concluded, his wary blue +eyes ceasing suddenly to hold Amory's brook-brown +ones and taking a reflective flight past her +head instead, "for a paper like ours—I'm hazarding +this, you understand, and keep my right to reconsider +it—I'm not sure that a certain amount of +fluidity isn't a Law...."</p> + +<p>Amory nodded. She thought it excellently put.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> + +<h2>IV</h2> + +<h3>THE STONE WALL</h3> + + +<p>Amory sometimes thought, when she took +her bird's-eye-view of the numerous activities +that found each its voice in its proper place +in the columns of the "Novum," that she would +have allowed almost any of them to perish for lack +of support rather than the Wyron's "Lectures +on Love." She admitted this to be a weakness +in herself, a sneaking fondness, no more; but +there it was—just that one blind spot that mars +even the clearest and most piercing vision. And +she always smiled when Mr. Strong tried to show +this weakness of hers in the light of a merit.</p> + +<p>"No, no," she always said, "I don't defend it. +Twenty things are more important really, but I +can't help it. I suppose it's because we know +all about Laura and Walter themselves."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so," Mr. Strong would musingly concede.</p> + +<p>Anybody who was anybody knew all about +Laura Beamish and Walter Wyron and a certain +noble defeat in their lives that was to be accounted +as more than a hundred ordinary victories. That +almost historic episode had just shown everybody<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +who was anybody what the world's standards +were really worth. Hitherto the Wyrons have +been spoken of both as a married couple and as +"Walter Wyron" and "Laura Beamish" separately; +let the slight ambiguity now be cleared up.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cosimo Pratt became on occasion Miss +Amory Towers for reasons that began and ended +in her profession as a painter; and everybody +who was anybody was as well aware that Miss +Amory Towers, the painter of the famous feminist +picture "Barrage," was in reality Mrs. Cosimo +Pratt, as the great mass of people who were nobody +knew that Miss Elizabeth Thompson, the painter +of "The Roll Call," was actually Lady Butler. +But not so with the Wyrons. Reasons, not of +business, nor yet of fame, but of a burning and +inextinguishable faith, had led to their noble +equivocation. Deeply seated in the hearts +both of Walter and of Laura had lain a passionate +non-acceptance of the merely parroted formula +of the Wedding Service. So searching and +fundamental had this been that by the time their +various objections had been disposed of little had +remained that had seemed worth bothering about; +and in one sense they had not bothered about it. +True, in another sense they had bothered, and +that was precisely where the defeat came in; but +that did not dim the splendour of the attempt. To +come without further delay to the point, the Wyrons +had married, under strong protest, in the ordinary +everyday way, Laura submitting to the momentary +indignity of a ring; but thereafter they had magnificently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +vindicated the New Movement (in that +one aspect of it) by not saying a word about the +ceremony of their marriage to anybody—no, not +even to the people who were somebody. Then +they had flown off to the Latin Quarter.</p> + +<p>It had not been in the Latin Quarter, however, +that the true character of their revolt had first +shown. Perhaps—nobody knows—their relation +had not been singular enough there. Perhaps—there +were people base enough to whisper this—they +had feared the singularity of "letting on." +It is easy to do in the Boul' Mich' as the Boul' +Mich' does. The real difficulties begin when you +try to do in London what London permits only as +long as you do it covertly.</p> + +<p>And if there had been a certain covertness about +their behaviour when, after a month, they had +returned, what a venial and pardonable subterfuge, +to what a tremendous end! Amory herself, +up to then, had not had a larger conception. For +while the Wyrons had secretly married simply +and solely in order that their offspring should +not lie under a stigma, their overt lives had been +one impassioned and beautiful protest against +any assumption whatever on the part of the world +of a right to make rules for the generation that was +to follow. No less a gospel than this formed the +substance of those Lectures of Walter's; great +as the number of the born was, his mission was +the protection of a greater number still. The +best aspects both of legitimacy and of illegitimacy +were to be stereoscoped in the perfect birth. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +he now had, in quite the strict sense of the word, +a following. The same devoted faces followed +him from the Lecture at the Putney Baths on +the Monday to that at the Caxton Hall on the +Thursday, from his ascending the platform at the +Hampstead Town Hall on the Tuesday to his +addressing of a garden-party from under the copper-beech +at The Witan on the Sunday afternoon. And +in course of time the faithfulness of the followers +was rewarded. They graduated, so to speak, from +the seats in the body of the building to the platform +itself. There they supported Laura, and gave +her a countenance that she no longer needed +(for she had earned her right to wear her wedding-ring +openly now), and flocked about the lecturer +afterwards, not as about a mere man, but rather +as seeing in him the physician, the psychologist, +the expert, the helper, and the setter of crooked +things straight that he was.</p> + +<p>As a lecturer—may we say as a prophet?—Walter +had a manner original and taking in the +extreme. Anybody less sustained by his vision +and less upheld by his faith might have been a +little tempted to put on "side," but not so Walter. +Perhaps his familiarity with the stage—everybody +knew his father, Herman Wyron, of the New Greek +Theatre—had taught him the value of the large +and simple statement of large and simple things; +anyhow, he did not so much lecture to his audiences +as accompany them, chattily and companionably, +through the various windings of his subject. +With his hands thrust unaffectedly into the pockets<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +of his knickers, and a sort of sublimated "Well, +here we are again" expression on his face, he allayed +his hearers' natural timidity before the magnitude +of his mission, and gave them a direct and human +confab. on a subject that returned as it were from +its cycle of vastness to simple personal experience +again. His every sentence seemed to say, "Don't +be afraid; it's nothing really; soon you'll be as +much at your ease in dealing with these things as +I am; just let me tell you an anecdote." No +wonder Laura held her long and muscular neck +very straight above her hand-embroidered yoke. +Everybody understood that unless she adopted some +sort of an attitude her proper pride in such a married +lover must show, which would have been rather +rubbing it in to the rest of her sex. So she booked +dates for new lectures almost nonchalantly, and, +when the platform was invaded at the end of the +Lecture, or Walter stepped down to the level of +those below, she was there in person as the final +demonstration of how well these things actually +would work as soon as Society had decided upon +some concerted action.</p> + +<p>Corin and Bonniebell, Amory's twins, did not +attend Walter's Lectures. It was not deemed +advisable to keep them out of bed so late at night. +But Miss Britomart Belchamber, the governess, +could have passed—had in fact passed—an examination +in them. It had been Amory who, +so to speak, had set the paper. For it had been +at one of the Lectures—the one on "<i>The Future +Race: Are We Making Manacles?</i>"—that Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +Belchamber had first impressed Amory favourably. +Amory had singled her out, first because +she wore the guarantee of Prince Eadmond's +Collegiate Institution—the leather-belted brown +sleeveless djibbah with the garment of fine buff +fabric showing beneath it as the fruit of a roasted +chestnut shows when the rind splits—and secondly +because of her admirable physique. She was +splendidly fair, straight as an athlete, and could +shut up her long and massive limbs in a wicker +chair like a clasp-knife; and for her movements +alone it was almost a sin that Walter's father could +not secure her for the New Greek Society's revival +of "Europa" at the Choragus Theatre. And +she was not too quick mentally. That is not to +say that she was a fool. What made Amory +sure that she was not a fool was that she herself +was not instinctively attracted by fools, and it +was better that Miss Belchamber should be ductile +under the influence of Walter's ideas than that +she should have just wit enough to ask those stupid +and conventional and so-called "practical" questions +that Walter always answered at the close +of the evening as patiently as if he had never heard +them before. And Miss Belchamber told the +twins stories, and danced "Rufty Tufty," with +them, and "Catching of Quails," and was really +cheap at her rather stiff salary. Cosimo loved to +watch her at "Catching of Quails." If the children +did not grow up with a love of beauty after that, +he said, he gave it up. (The twins, by the way, +unconsciously served Amory as another example<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +of Dorothy Tasker's unreasonableness. As the +mother of Noel and Jackie, Dorothy seemed rather +to fancy herself as an experienced woman. But +Amory could afford to smile at this pretension. +There was a difference in age of a year and more +between Noel and Jackie. No doubt Dorothy +knew a little, but she, Amory, could have told +her a thing or two).</p> + +<p>On a Wednesday afternoon about a fortnight +after Lady Tasker's visit to The Witan, Amory +walked the garden thoughtfully. The weather +was growing chilly, the hammock had been taken +in, and her feet in the fallen leaves made a melancholy +sound. Cosimo had left her half an hour before; +certain points had struck him in the course of +conversation which he thought ought to be incorporated +in the "<i>Life and Work</i>"; and it was a +rule at The Witan that nothing must ever be allowed +to interfere with the impulse of artistic creation. +For the matter of that, Amory herself was creating +now, or at any rate was at the last preparatory +stage that immediately precedes creation. Presently +she would have taken the plunge and would be +deep in the new number of the "Novum." For +the moment she was thinking of Mr. Strong.</p> + +<p>As she tried to clear up exactly what place Mr. +Strong had in her thoughts she was struck by the +dreadful tendency words and names and definitions +have to attach themselves to vulgar and ready-made +meanings—a tendency so strong that she +had even caught herself more than once jumping +to a common conclusion. To take an example,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +though a rather preposterous one. Had Dorothy, +with one of her ridiculous advertisements waiting +to be done, confessed to her that instead of setting +about it she was thinking of a male person with +a pair of alert blue eyes and a curiously mobile +and clean-cut mouth (not that it was likely that +Dorothy would have had the candour to make +such a confession)—well, Amory might have smiled +just like anybody else. She was not trying to +make herself out any better than others. She was +candid about it, however, which they were often not.</p> + +<p>Still, the trouble about her feeling for Mr. Strong +was to find a word for it that had not been vulgarized. +She was, of course, exceedingly interested in him, +but that was not saying very much. She "liked" +him, too, but that again might mean anything. +Her difficulty was that she herself was so special; +and so on second thoughts she might have been +right in giving an interpretation to Dorothy's +actions, and Dorothy quite wrong in giving the same +interpretation to hers merely because the data were +the same.</p> + +<p>Nor had Mr. Strong himself been able to help +her very much when, a couple of days before, she +had put the question to him, earnestly and without +hateful false shame.</p> + +<p>"What <i>is</i> this relation of ours?" she had asked +him, point-blank and fearlessly.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" Mr. Strong had replied, a little startled.</p> + +<p>"There <i>must</i> be a relation of some sort between +every two people who come into contact. I'm +just wondering exactly what ours <i>is</i>."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then Mr. Strong had knitted his brows and +had said, presently, "I see.... Have you read +'<i>The Tragic Comedians</i>?'"—Amory had not, +and the copy of the book which she had immediately +ordered had not come yet. And then she too had +knitted her brows. She had caught the trick from +him.</p> + +<p>"I suppose that what it really comes to is knowing +<i>yourself</i>," she had mused; and at that Mr. +Strong had given her a quick approving look, +almost as if he said that if she put in her thumb +in the same place again she might pull out a plum +very well worth having.</p> + +<p>"And not," Amory had continued, curiously +heartened, "anything about the other person at all."</p> + +<p>"Good, good," Mr. Strong had applauded under +his breath; "have you Edward Carpenter's book +in the house, by the way?... Never mind: I'll +send you my copy."</p> + +<p>He had sent it. It was in Amory's hand now. +She had discovered that it had a catching and +not easily identifiable smell of its own, of Virginia +cigarettes and damp and she knew not what else, +all mingled; and somehow the smell seemed quite +as much an answer to the question she had asked +as anything in the book itself.</p> + +<p>Nor, despite Walter's special knowledge of these +indications, could she go to the Wyrons for diagnosis +and advice. For one thing, there was her own +position of high patronage to be considered; for +another, splendidly daring as the Wyrons' original +protest had been, the Lectures had lately begun<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +to have a little the air of a shop, over the counter +of which admittedly valuable specifics were handed, +but with a kind of "<i>And</i> the next article, please?" +suspicion about it. Besides, the Wyrons, having +no children, had of necessity to "chic" a little in +cases where children formed a complicating element. +Besides ... but anyway, Amory wasn't going +either to Laura Beamish or to Walter Wyron.</p> + +<p>She made a charming picture as she walked +slowly the length of the privet hedge and then +turned towards the copper beech again. Mr. Strong +had said that he liked her in that dress—an aluminium-grey +one, very simple and very expensive, +worn with a handsome Indian shawl, a gift of +Mr. Prang's, the mellow colour of which "led +up" to the glowing casque of her hair; and she +had smiled when Mr. Strong had added that Britomart +Belchamber's rough tabards and the half-gym +costume in which she danced "Rufty Tufty" +would not have suited her, Amory, at all. Probably +they wouldn't—not as a regular thing. Cosimo +liked those, especially when the wearer was largish; +indeed, it was one of Cosimo's humours to pose +as Britomart's admirer. But Amory was small, +and never shut her limbs up like a multiple-lever +in a basket chair, but drew her skirt down +a foot or so below her toes instead whenever she +sat down. She fancied, though Mr. Strong had +never used the word, that the "Novum's" editor +found Miss Belchamber just a little hoydenish.</p> + +<p>Amory wished that something would bring Mr. +Strong up that afternoon. It was one of the days<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +on which the editing of the "Novum" could take +care of itself, and besides, they would actually be +editing it together. For the next number but one—the +forthcoming one was already passed—was to be +their most important utterance yet. It was to +indicate clearly, firmly and once for all, their +Indian policy. The threatened failure of the monsoon +made the occasion urgent, and Mr. Suwarree Prang +himself had explained to Amory only the night +before precisely what the monsoon was, and how +its failure would provide, from the point of view +of those who held that the present wicked regime +of administration by the strong hand was at last +tottering to its fall, a providential opportunity. +It had struck Amory as wondrously romantic +and strange that a meteorological condition half-way +round the world, in a place she had never +seen, should thus change the course of her quiet +life in Hampstead; but, properly considered, no +one thing in this wonderful world was more wonderful +than another. It was Life, and Life, as she +remembered to have read somewhere or other, +is for the Masters of it. And she was beginning +to find that after all these things only required +a little confidence. It was as easy to swim in six +miles deep of water, like that place in Cosimo's +atlas of which the name escaped her for the moment, +as it was in six feet. And Mr. Prang had talked +to her so long and so vividly about India that +she sometimes found it quite difficult to realize that +she had never been there.</p> + +<p>Still wishing that Mr. Strong would come, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +slowly left the garden and entered the house. In +the hall she paused for a moment, and a tender +little smile softened her face. She had stopped +before the exquisite casts of the foot and the arm. +Pensively she took the foot up from the console +table, and then, coming to a resolution, she took +the arm down from its hook on the wall. After +all, beautiful as she had to admit them to be, the +studio, and not the hall, was the proper place for +them.</p> + +<p>With the foot and Edward Carpenter in her +left hand, and the plaster arm hugged to her right +breast, she walked along the passage and sought +the studio.</p> + +<p>It was called the studio, and there certainly +were canvases and easels and other artists' paraphernalia +there, but it was less used for painting than +as a room for sitting and smoking and tea and +discussion. It was a comfortable apartment. Rugs +made islands on the thick cork floor-covering, +and among the rugs were saddlebag chairs, a long +adjustable chair, and a wide couch covered with +faded tapestry. The room was an annex of corrugated +iron lined with matchboarding, but electric-light +fittings depended from the iron ties overhead, +and in place of an ordinary hearth was a sort of +stage one, with an imitation log of asbestos, which, +when you put a match to it, broke into a licking +of blue and yellow gas-jets. The north window +occupied the whole of the garden end, and, facing +it, was the large cartoon for Amory's unfinished +allegorical picture, "<i>The Triumph of Humane<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +Government</i>." High up and just within the door +was the bell that answered to the button outside.</p> + +<p>Amory was putting down the casts on a Benares +tray when the ringing of this bell startled her. +But as it rang in the kitchen also, she did not move +to answer it. She stood listening, the fingers of +one hand to her lips, those of the other still resting +on the plaster shoulder. Then she heard a voice, +and a moment later there came a tap at the door.</p> + +<p>It was Mr. Strong.</p> + +<p>He advanced, and did a thing he had not done +before—lifted the hand she extended to his lips +and then let it drop again. But Amory was not +surprised. It was merely a new and natural expression +of the homage he had never concealed, and +even had Amory been vain enough to suppose +that it meant anything more, the briskness of the +"Good afternoon" that followed it would have +disabused her. "Glad I found you," Mr. Strong +said. "I wanted to see you. Cosimo in?"</p> + +<p>Her husband was always Cosimo to him, but in +speaking to herself he used no name at all. It was +as if he hesitated to call her Amory, and refused to +call her Mrs. Pratt. Even "Miss Towers" he had +only used once, and that was some time ago.</p> + +<p>Amory's fingers left the cast, and Mr. Strong +walked towards the asbestos log.—"May I?" he +said, drawing forth a packet of Virginia cigarettes; +and afterwards he put the match with which he +lighted one of the cigarettes to the log. Amory +drew up a small square footstool, and put her +elbows on her knees and her interwoven fingers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +beneath her chin. Mr. Strong examined the end +of his cigarette, and thrust his chin down into his +red tie and his hands deep into his trousers pockets. +Then he seemed to plunge into thought.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he shot a glance at Amory, and said +abruptly, "I suppose you've talked over the Indian +policy with Cosimo?"</p> + +<p>It was nice and punctilious of him, the way he +always dragged Cosimo in, and Amory liked it. +She felt sure that the editor of the "Times," calling +on the Prime Minister's wife, would not ignore +the Prime Minister. But to-day she was a little +abstracted—dull—she didn't know exactly what; +and so she replied, without moving, "Would you +like him here? He's busy with the '<i>Life</i>'."</p> + +<p>"Oh no, don't trouble him then."</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Then, "I did talk to him +about it. And to Mr. Prang," Amory said.</p> + +<p>"Oh. Hm. Quite so," said Mr. Strong, looking +at the toes of his brogues.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Mr. Prang was here last night," Amory +continued, looking at the points of her own slippers.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Again Mr. Strong's chin was sunk into his red +tie. He was rising and falling slowly on his toes. +His eyes moved ruminatively sideways to the rug +at Amory's feet.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Yes. I've been wondering——" he said +thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing really. I dare say I'm quite +wrong. You see, Prang——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What?" Amory asked as he paused again.</p> + +<p>There was a twinkle in the eyes that rose to +Amory's. Mr. Strong gave a slight shrug.—"Well—Prang!——" +he said with humorous deprecation.</p> + +<p>Amory was quick.—"Oh!—You don't mean +that Mr. Prang isn't sound?"</p> + +<p>"Sound? Perfectly, perfectly. And a most +capable fellow. Only I've wondered once or twice +whether he isn't—you know—just a little <i>too</i> +capable.... You see, we want to use Prang—not +to have Prang using <i>us</i>."</p> + +<p>Amory could not forbear to smile. If that was +all that was troubling Mr. Strong she thought she +could reassure him.</p> + +<p>"I don't think you'd have been afraid of that +if you'd been here last night," she replied quietly. +"We were talking over England's diabolical misrule, +and I never knew Mr. Prang so luminous. +It was pathetic—really. Cosimo was talking about +that Rawal Pindi case—you know, of that ruffianly +young subaltern drawing down the blinds and +then beating the native.—'But how do they take +it?' I asked Mr. Prang, rather scornfully, you +know; and really I was sorry for the poor fellow, +having to apologize for his country.—'That's it,' +he said sadly—it was really sad.—And he told me, +frankly, that sometimes the poor natives pretended +they were killed, and sometimes they announce +that they're going to die on a certain day, and they +really <i>do</i> die—they're so mystic and sensitive—it +was <i>most</i> interesting.... But what I mean is, +that a gentle and submissive people like that—Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +Prang admits that's their weakness—I mean +they <i>couldn't</i> use <i>us</i>! It's our degradation that +we aren't gentle and sensitive too. You see what +I mean?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, quite," Mr. Strong jerked out. "Quite."</p> + +<p>"And that's why I call Mr. Prang an idealist. +There must be something <i>in</i> the East. At any +rate it was splendid moral courage on Prang's +part to say, quite openly, that they couldn't do +anything without the little handful of us here, +but must simply go on suffering and dying."</p> + +<p>There fell one of the silences that usually came +when Mr. Strong lost interest in a subject. Merely +adding, "Oh, I've not a word to say against Prang, +but——," he began to rise and fall on his toes +again. Then he stepped to the Benares table +where the casts were. But he made no criticism +of them. He picked the foot up, and put it down +again. "I like it," he said, and returned once more +to the asbestos hearth. The silence fell again.</p> + +<p>Amory, sitting on the footstool with her knees +supporting her elbows and her wrists supporting +her chin, would have liked to offer Mr. Strong +a penny for his thoughts. She had had an odd, +warm little sensation when he had picked up that +cast of the perfect foot. She supposed he must +know that it was her foot, but so widely had his +thoughts been ranging that he had merely put it +down again with an abstracted "I like it." Amory +was not sure that any other woman than herself +would not have been piqued. Any other woman +would have expected him either not to look at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +thing, or else to say that it was small, or to ask +whether the real one was as white, or something +foolish like that. But Amory was superior to such +things. She lived on higher levels. On these +levels such an affront to the pure intellect as a +flirtation could not exist. Free Love as a logical +and defensible system—yes, perhaps; or a combination +so happy of marriage and cohabitation +as that of the Wyrons'—yes again; but anything +lower she left to the stupid people who swallowed +the conventions whole, including the convention +of not being found out.—So she merely wondered +about their relation again. Obviously, there must +be a relation. And yet his own explanation had +been quite insufficient; it had been no explanation +at all to ask her whether she had read "<i>The Tragic +Comedians</i>" or whether she had Edward Carpenter +in the house. No doubt it was flattering to her +intelligence to suppose that she could "flash" +at his meaning without further words on his part, +but it was also a little irritating when the flash +didn't come. And, now that she came to think of +it, except that he allowed it to be inferred that he +found Britomart Belchamber a bit lumpish, she +didn't know what he thought, not merely of herself, +but of women at all.</p> + +<p>And yet there was a passed-through-the-furnace +look about him that might have piqued any woman. +It was not conceivable that his eyes had softened +only over inspired passages in proof, or that the +tenderest speeches his lips had shaped had been the +"Novum's" rallying-cries to the devoted band of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +New Imperialists. Amory was sure that his memory +must be a maze of things, less spacious perhaps, but +far more interesting than these. He looked widely +now, but must have looked close and intense too. +He pronounced upon the Empire, but, for all he was +not married, must have probed deep into the palpitating +human heart as well.</p> + +<p>Amory was just thinking what a gage of intimacy +an unembarrassed silence can be when Mr. Strong +broke it. He lighted another cigarette at the end +of the last, turned, threw the end on the asbestos +log, and stood looking at the purring blue and +yellow jets. No doubt he was full of the Indian +policy again.</p> + +<p>But as it happened it was not the Indian policy—"Oh," +Mr. Strong said, "I meant to ask you—Who +was that fellow who came up here one day?"</p> + +<p>This was so vague that when Amory said "What +fellow?" Mr. Strong himself saw the vagueness, +and laughed.</p> + +<p>"Of course: 'How big is a piece of wood?'—I +mean the fellow who came to The Witan in a +morning-coat?"</p> + +<p>This was description enough. Amory's back +straightened a little.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Stanhope Tasker! Oh, just the husband +of a friend of mine. I don't think you've met +her. Why?"</p> + +<p>Surely, she thought, Mr. Strong was not going to +tell her that "Stanhope Tasker was an excellent +fellow in his way, but——," as he had said of +Mr. Brimby, Mr. Wilkinson and Mr. Prang!—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing much. Only that I saw him +to-day," Strong replied offhandedly.</p> + +<p>"He's often about. He isn't a very busy man, +I should say," Amory remarked.</p> + +<p>"Saw him in Charing Cross Road as I was +coming out of the office," Mr. Strong continued. +"I don't think he saw me though."</p> + +<p>"After his abominable manners to you that day +I should think he'd be ashamed to look you in the +face."</p> + +<p>For a moment Mr. Strong looked puzzled; then +he remembered, and laughed again.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I didn't mind that in the least! Rather +refreshing in fact. Far more likely he didn't notice +me because he had his wife with him. I think +you said he was married?"</p> + +<p>Amory was just about to say that Mr. Strong +gave Stan far more magnanimity than he deserved +when a thought arrested her. Dorothy in Charing +Cross Road! As far as she was aware Dorothy had +not been out of Hampstead for weeks, and even +then kept to the less frequented parts of the Heath. +It wasn't likely....</p> + +<p>Her eyes became thoughtful.</p> + +<p>"Oh? That's funny," she said.</p> + +<p>"What, that he shouldn't see me? Oh no. +They seemed far more interested in electric-light +fittings."</p> + +<p>Amory's eyes grew more thoughtful still—"Oh!" +she said; and added, "Did you think her pretty?"</p> + +<p>"Hm—in a way. Very well dressed certainly; +they both were. But I don't think these black<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +Spanish types amuse me much," Mr. Strong replied.</p> + +<p>Dorothy a black Spanish type!</p> + +<p>"Oh, do tell me what she had on!" said Amory +brightly.</p> + +<p>She rather thought she knew most of Dorothy's +dresses by this time.</p> + +<p>A black Spanish type!</p> + +<p>The task of description was too much for Mr. +Strong, but he did his best with it. Amory was +keenly interested. But she pocketed her interest +for the present, and said quite banteringly and +with an almost arch look, "Oh, I should have +thought Mrs. Tasker exactly your type!"</p> + +<p>Again the quick motion of Mr. Strong's blue +eyes suggested an audible click—"Oh? Why?" +he asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's no 'why' about it, of course. It's +the impression of you I had, that's all. You see, +you don't particularly admire Miss Belchamber——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, come! I think Miss Belchamber's an +exceedingly nice girl, only——"</p> + +<p>"Well, Laura Beamish, then. But I forgot; +you don't go to Walter's Lectures. But I wonder +whether you'd admire Laura?"</p> + +<p>"If she's black and Spanish you think I should?" +He paused. "Is she?"</p> + +<p>"No. Brown and stringy rather, and with +eyes that open and shut very quickly.... But +I'm very absurd. There's no Law about these +things really. Only, you see, I've no idea of the +kind of woman you <i>do</i> admire?"</p> + +<p>She said it smilingly, but that did not mean that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +she was not perfectly candid and natural about it +too. Why not be natural about these things? +Amory knew people who were natural enough about +their preferred foods and clothing and houses; +was a woman less than an entrée, or a bungalow, +or a summer overcoat? Besides, it was so very +much more intrinsically interesting. Walter Wyron +had made a whole Lecture on it—Lecture No. II, +"<i>Types and Tact</i>," and Walter had barely touched +the fringe of the subject. Amory wanted to go a +little deeper than that. But she also wanted to +get away from those vulgarized words and ready-made +conclusions, and to have each case considered +on its merits. Surely it ought to be possible to say +that the presence of a person affected you pleasantly, +or unpleasantly, without sniggering inferences of a +<i>liaison</i> in the one case or of a rupture in the other!</p> + +<p>Therefore it was once more just a little irritating +that Mr. Strong, instead of telling her what type +he did admire, should merely laugh and say, "Well—not +Mrs. Tasker." If Amory had a criticism at +all to make of Mr. Strong it was this habit of his +of negatives, that sometimes almost justified the +nickname Mr. Brimby had given him, of "Stone +Wall Strong." So she dropped one hand from +her chin, allowing it to hang loose over her knee +while the other forearm still kept its swan's-neck +curve, and said abruptly, "Well—about the Indian +Number. Let's get on."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes," said Mr. Strong. "Let's get on."</p> + +<p>"What had we decided?"</p> + +<p>"Only Prang's article so far."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But you say you have your doubts about it?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Strong hesitated. "Only about its selling-power," +he said with a little shrug. "We must +sell the paper, you see. It's not paying its way +yet."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm sure that's not Mr. Prang's fault," +Amory retorted. "He's practically made the export +circulation."</p> + +<p>"You mean the Bombay circulation? Yes, I +suppose he has. I don't deny it."</p> + +<p>"You can't deny it. Since Prang began to write +for us we've done awfully well in Bombay."</p> + +<p>To that too, Mr. Strong assented. Then Amory, +after a moment's pause, spoke quietly. She did +not like to think of her editor as jealous of his own +contributors.</p> + +<p>"I know you don't like Mr. Prang," she said, +looking fixedly at the asbestos log.</p> + +<p>"I!" began Stone Wall Strong. "Why, you +know I think he's a first rate fellow, if only——"</p> + +<p>This time, however, Amory really did intend +to get it out of him. For once she would have one +of those hung-up sentences completed.</p> + +<p>"If only what?" she said, looking up at him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know—as you said a moment ago, +there's no 'why' about these things——"</p> + +<p>"But I did give you my impression. You don't +give me yours."</p> + +<p>"You did, I admit. Yes, I admit you did.... +What is it you want to know, then?"</p> + +<p>"Only why you seem so doubtful about Mr. +Prang."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Mr. Strong....</p> + +<p>Those who knew Edgar Strong the best said +that he was a man who, other things being equal, +would rather go straight than not. Even when +the other things were not quite equal, he still had +a mild preference for straightness. But if other +people positively insisted that he should deviate +from straightness, very well; that was their look-out. +He had been a good many things in his time—solicitor's +clerk, free-lance journalist, book-pedlar, +election-agent's minion, Vanner, poetic vagabond, +and always an unerring "spotter" of the +literary son of the farming squire the moment he +appeared in sight; and the "Novum" was the +softest job he had found yet. If the price of his +keeping it was that he should look its owner's +wife long and earnestly in the eyes, as if in his own +there lay immeasurable things, not for him to +give but for her to take if she list, so be it; he would +sleep none the less well in his rent-free bedroom +behind the "Novum's" offices afterwards. His +experience of far less comfortable sleeping-quarters +had persuaded him that in this imperfect world a man +is entitled to exactly what he can get.</p> + +<p>His eyes, nevertheless, did not seek Amory's. +Instead, roving round the room to see if nothing +less would serve (leaving him still with the fathomless +look in reserve for emergencies), they fell on +the Benares tray and the casts. And as they +remained there he suddenly frowned. Amory's +own eyes followed his; and suddenly she felt again +that little creeping thrill. A faint colour and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +warmth, new and pleasurable, came into her cheeks.</p> + +<p>Then with a little rush, her discovery came upon +her....</p> + +<p>She <i>had</i> got something from Mr. Strong at last!</p> + +<p>Her head drooped a little away from him, and +the hand that had hung laxly over her knee +dropped gently to the rug. It was a delicious +moment. So all these weeks and weeks Mr. Strong +<i>had</i> cared that that foot, that arm, had been exposed +to the gaze of anybody who might have entered +the house! He had not said so; he did not say so +now; but that was it! More, he had cared so much +that it had quite distorted his judgment of Mr. +Prang. And all at once Amory remembered something +else—a glance Edgar Strong had given her, +neither more nor less eloquent than the look he was +bending on the casts now, one afternoon when she +had lain in the hammock in the garden and Mr. +Prang, bending over her, had ventured to examine +a locket about her throat....</p> + +<p>So <i>that</i> was at the bottom of his reserve! <i>That</i> +was the meaning of his "buts"!...</p> + +<p>Amory did not move. She wished it might +last for hours. Mr. Strong had taken a step towards +the casts, but, changing his mind, had turned away +again; and she was astonished to find how full of +meaning dozens of his past gestures became now +that she had the key to them. And she knew that +the casts <i>were</i> beautiful. Brucciani would have +bought them like a shot. And she seemed to see +Mr. Strong's look, piteous and frowning both at +once, if she should sell them to Brucciani, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +Brucciani should publish them to hang in a hundred +studios....</p> + +<p>The silence between them continued.</p> + +<p>But speak she must, and it would be better to +do so before he did; and by and bye she lifted her +head again. But she did not look directly at him.</p> + +<p>"It was very foolish," she murmured with beautiful +directness and simplicity.</p> + +<p>Mr. Strong said nothing.</p> + +<p>"But for weeks I've been intending to move +them."</p> + +<p>Mr. Strong shrugged his shoulders. It was as if +he said, "Well better late than never ... but +you see, <i>now</i>."</p> + +<p>"Yes," breathed Amory, softly, but aloud.</p> + +<p>The next moment Mr. Strong was himself again. +He returned to his station by the asbestos log.</p> + +<p>"Well, there's Prang's article," he said in his +business voice. "Am I to have it set up?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps we'd better see what Cosimo says +first," Amory replied.</p> + +<p>She did not know which was the greater delicacy +in Mr. Strong—the exquisite tact of the glance +he had given at the casts, or the quiet strength +with which he took up the burden of editing the +"Novum" again.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> + +<h2>V</h2> + +<h3>THREE SHIPS</h3> + + +<p>A white October mist lay over the Heath, +and the smell of burning leaves came in at +the pond-room window of Dorothy Tasker's flat. +But the smell was lost on Dorothy. All her intelligence +was for the moment concentrated in one +faculty, the faculty of hearing. She was sure Jackie +had swallowed a safety-pin, and she was anxiously +listening for the click with which it might come +unstuck.</p> + +<p>"Shall I send for the doctor, m'm?" said Ruth, +who stood holding the doorknob in her aproned +hand. She had been called away from her "brights," +and there was a mournful relish of Jackie's plight +on her face.</p> + +<p>"No," said Dorothy.... "Oh, I <i>know</i> there +were twelve of them, and now there are only eleven!... +<i>Have</i> you put one of these things into your +mouth, Jackie?"</p> + +<p>"He put it up his nose, mumsie, like he did +some boot-buttons once," said Noel cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"But he couldn't do that.... <i>Have</i> you +swallowed it, Jackie?"</p> + +<p>"Mmm," said Jackie resolutely, as who should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +say that that which his hand (or in this case his +mouth) found to do he did with all his might.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear!" sighed Dorothy, leaning back in +her chair....</p> + +<p>She supposed it was the still white weather that +weighed on her spirits; she hoped so, for if it was +not that it was something worse. Even dreary +weather was better than bankruptcy. She had +sent her pass-book to the bank to be balanced; +until it should come back she refused to look at +the pile of tradesmen's books that stood on her +writing-desk; and borrowing from her aunt was +not borrowing at all, but simply begging, since +Aunt Grace regarded the return of such loans as +the last of affronts.</p> + +<p>And (she sighed again) she had been <i>so</i> well-off +at the time of her marriage! Why, she had had +well over a thousand a year from Hallowell and +Smith's alone!... But Stan had had a few +debts which had had to be settled, and Stan's +knowledge of the style in which things ought to +be done had been rather a drawback on that trip +they had taken to the Riviera, for his ideas of +hotels had been a little splendacious, and of dinners +to "a few friends" rather daring; and, with one +thing and another, the problem of how to satisfy +champagne tastes on a beer income had never +been really satisfactorily solved by Stan, poor old +boy. And he never, never grumbled at home, +not even when the cold beef came on three evenings +together, which was harder on him than it +was on most people. He did what he could to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +earn, too. It wasn't his fault that the standard +of efficiency in the Army was so impracticably +high, nor that he had been packed off to try his +luck in Canada with the disadvantage of being a +remittance-man, nor that, at the age of twenty-seven, +when his father had died, he had had to +turn to and compete for this job or that with a +horde of capable youngsters years his juniors and +with fewer hampering decencies. It was his father's +fault and Aunt Susan's really, for having sent him +to Marlborough and Sandhurst without being able +to set him properly on his feet afterwards. Such +victims of circumstances, on a rather different +level, made husbands who stopped at home and +cleaned the knives and took the babies out in the +perambulator. In Stan's case the natural result +had been to make a young man fit only to join as a +ranker or to stand with his back to a mirror in a +suspect card-room.</p> + +<p>"Shall I take him away, m'm?" Mrs. Mossop +asked—("And prepare his winding-sheet," her tone +seemed to add).</p> + +<p>"Yes, do," Dorothy replied, with a glance at +Ruth's blackened hands. "And please make yourself +fit to be seen, Ruth. You know you oughtn't to +be doing all that on the very day I let Norah out."</p> + +<p>She knew that her rebuke had set Ruth up in +the melancholy enjoyment of resentment for half +a week, but she was past caring. Ruth rose an +inch in height at being chidden for the faithful +performance of her most disagreeable duties; she +turned; and as she bore the Bits away the mighty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +roar into which Jackie broke diminished in volume +down the passage.</p> + +<p>Dorothy sighed, that all her troubles should +thus crowd on her at once. Her eyes fell again +on the tradesmen's books. It hardly seemed +worth while to pay them, since they would only +come in again next week, as clamourous and urgent +as ever. They were thrust through the letterbox +like letters; Dorothy knew very well the thud +with which they fell on the floor; but she could +never help running out into the hall when they +came. She had tried the plan of dispensing with +books altogether and paying for everything in +cash as she got it, but that had merely meant, not +one large worry a week, but harassing little ones +all the week through.</p> + +<p>Oh, why had she squandered, or allowed Stan +to squander, those good round sovereigns of Hallowell +and Smith's!——</p> + +<p>Still—there is measure in everything—she had +not sent her pass-book to the bank in order to learn +whether she had a balance. That would have +been too awful. It was the amount of her margin +that she wanted, and feared, to know. For presently +there would be the doctor to pay, and so +many guineas a week at the Nursing Home, and +the flat going on just the same, and poor old Stan +pathetically hoping that a casual dinner-table +puff in a Marlborough voice would result in fat +new ledger-accounts for Fortune and Brooks' and +magnificent commissions for himself. If only she +could get just a little ahead of her points! But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +the money went out just slightly quicker than it +came in. Stan carved it as it were in twopences +off the cold beef, the Bits swallowed it in pennorths +with their breadcrumbs and gravy, and +directly the strain eased for a little, down swooped +the rent and set everything back again exactly +where it had been three months before.</p> + +<p>And the Income Tax people had actually sent +Stan a paper, wanting to know all about his income +from lands, hereditaments, etc., and warning him +that his wife's income must be accounted as part +of his own!</p> + +<p>But it must not be supposed that Dorothy had +allowed things to come to this pass without having +had an idea. She had an idea, and one that she +thought a very good one. Nevertheless, an idea is +one thing, and the execution thereof at the proper +time quite another. For example, the proper +moment for the execution of this idea of Dorothy's +was certainly now, or at any rate at the Christmas +Quarter (supposing she herself was up and about +again by that time and had found a satisfactory sub-tenant +for the flat). But the person against whom +her idea was designed—who, by the way, happened +to be her unsuspecting and much-loved aunt, Lady +Tasker—was a very present difficulty. Dorothy +knew for a fact that what would be admirably +convenient for herself at Christmas could not possibly +be convenient to her aunt until, at the very +earliest, next summer. That was the crab—the +intervening period of nine months. She knew of +no mandragora that would put herself, Stan and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +her Bits of Impudence gently to sleep, to wake up +again to easier times.</p> + +<p>Oh, why had she spent those beautiful thick +sovereigns of Hallowell and Smiths' so recklessly!—</p> + +<p>The mist lay flat over the pond outside, making +in one corner of it a horrible scum, from which the +swans, seeking their food, lifted blackened necks. +There was never a ripple on the pond-room walls +to-day. Slowly Dorothy rose. Moping was useless; +she must do something. She crossed to her +writing-desk and took from one of its drawers a +fat file, concertina-ed like her own accordion-pleated +skirts; and she sat down and opened it fan-wise +on her knee. It was full of newspaper-cuttings, +draft "ideas" for advertisements, and similar +dreary things. She sighed again as her listless +fingers began to draw them out. She had not +thought at one time that she would ever come to +this. By a remarkable piece of luck and light-heartedness +and ingenuity she had started at Hallowell +and Smith's at the top of the tree; the brains +of underlings had been good enough to cudgel for +such scrap-stuff as filled her concertina-file; but +that was all changed now. Light come, light go; +and since the lapse of her contracts she had been +glad not only to devise these ignoble lures for the +public, but to draw them also. They formed the +pennies-three-farthings that came in while Stan +carved the twopences from the joint. She had +thought the good times were going to last for ever. +They hadn't. She now looked enviously up to +those who had been her own subordinates.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<p>With no heart in her task at all, Dorothy set +about the drafting of an advertisement.</p> + +<p>She was just beginning to forget about swallowed +safety-pins, and poor luckless Stan, and guineas +for her Nursing Home, and the prospect of presently +having seven mouths, big and little, to feed—she +was even beginning to cease to hear the clamour +of the Bits in the room along the passage—when +there came a ring at the bell. Her fair head did not +move, but her blue eyes stole abstractedly sideways +as Ruth passed the pond-room door. Then a man's +voice sounded, and Dorothy dropped her pen....</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Tasker," she had heard, with the "a" +cut very short and two "s's" in her name....</p> + +<p>The next moment Ruth had opened the pond-room +door, and, in tones that plainly said "You +needn't think that I've forgotten about just now, +because I haven't," announced: "Mr. Miller."</p> + +<p>Now it was curious that Dorothy had just been +thinking about Mr. Miller. Mr. Miller was Hallowells' +Publicity Manager, and the time had been +when Dorothy had had Mr. Miller completely in +her pocket. She had obtained that comfortable +contract of hers from Mr. Miller, and if during the +latter part of its continuance she had taken her +duties somewhat lightly and her pleasures with +enormous gusto, she was not sure that Mr. Miller +had not done something of the same kind. But +the firm, which could excuse itself from a renewal +of her own contract, for some reason or other could +not get rid of Mr. Miller; and now here was Mr. +Miller unexpectedly in Dorothy's flat—seeking her,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +which is far better for you than when you have +to do the seeking. He stood there with his grey +Trilby in his hand and his tailor-made deltoids +almost filling the aperture of the doorway.</p> + +<p>"There, now, if I wasn't right!" said Mr. Miller +with great satisfaction, advancing with one hand +outstretched. "I fixed it all up with myself coming +along that you'd be around the house. I've had +no luck all the week, and I said to myself as I got +out of the el'vator at Belsize Park, 'It's doo to +change.' And here I find you, right on the spot. +I hope this is not an introosion. How are you? +And how's Mr. Stan?"</p> + +<p>He shook hands heartily with Dorothy, and +looked round for a place in which to put his hat +and stick.</p> + +<p>"Why, now, this is comfortable," he went on, +drawing up the chair to which Dorothy pointed. +"I like your English fires. They may not have +all the advantages of steam-heat, but they got a +look about 'em—the Home-Idee. And you're looking +just about right in health, Mrs. Tasker, if I +may say so. You English women have our N'York +ladies whipped when it comes to complexion, +you have for sure. And how's the family——?"</p> + +<p>But here Mr. Miller suddenly stopped and looked +at Dorothy again. If the look that came into his +eyes had come into those of a young unmarried +woman, Dorothy would have fled there and then. +He dropped his head for a moment as people do +who enter a church; then he raised it again.</p> + +<p>"If you'll pardon an old married man and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +father of three little goils," Mr. Miller said, his eyes +reverently lifted and his voice suddenly altered, +"—but am I right in supposing that ... another +little gift from the storks, as my dear old Mamie—that +was my dear old negro nurse—used to say?" +Then, without waiting for the unrequired answer, +he straightened his back and squared his deltoids +in a way that would have made any of Holbein's +portraits of Henry the Eighth look like that of a +slender young man. His voice dropped three +whole tones, and again he showed Dorothy the +little bald spot on the crown of his head.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad. I say I'm glad. I'm vurry glad. +I rejoice. And I should like to shake Mr. Stan by +the hand. I should like to shake you by the hand +too, Mrs. Tasker." Then, when he had done so: +"It's the Mother-Idee. The same, old-fashioned +Idee, like our own mothers. It makes one feel +good. Reverent. I got no use for a young man +but what he shows lats of reverence for his mother. +The old Anglo-Saxon-Idee—reverence for motherhood.... +And when, if an old married man may +ask the question——?"</p> + +<p>Dorothy laughed and blushed and told him. Mr. +Miller, dropping his voice yet another tone, told +her in return that he knew of no holier place on +oith than the chamber in which the Anglo-Saxon-Idee +of veneration for motherhood was renewed +and sustained. And then, after he had said once +more that he rejoiced, there fell a silence.</p> + +<p>Dorothy liked Mr. Miller. Once you got over +his remarkable aptitude for sincerities he had an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +excellent heart. Nevertheless she could not imagine +why he had come. She shuddered as he seemed +for a moment to be once more on the point of +removing his shoes at the door of the Mosque of +Motherhood, but apparently he thought better of +it. Squaring his shoulders again, and no doubt +greatly fortified by his late exercise, he said, "Well, +I always feel more of a man after I felt the throb +of a fellow-creature's heart. That's so. And +now you'll be wondering what's brought me up +here? Well, the fact is, Mrs. Tasker, I'm wurried. +I got wurries. You can see the wurry-map on my +face. Hallowells' is wurrying me. I ain't going +to tell you Hallowells' ain't what it was in its pammy +days; it may be, or it may not; mebbe you've +heard the talk that's going around?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Dorothy.</p> + +<p>"Is that so? Well, there is talk going around. +There's a whole push of people, knocking us all +the time. They ain't of much account themselves, +but they knock us. It's a power the inferior mind +has. And I say I'm wurried about it."</p> + +<p>Dorothy, in spite of her "No," had heard of the +"knocking" of Hallowell and Smiths', and her +heart gave an excited little jump at the thought +that flashed across her mind. Did Hallowells' +want her back? The firm had been launched +upon London with every resource of publicity; +Dorothy herself had been the author of its crowning +device; and whereas the motto of older firms +had been "Courtesy Costs Nothing," Hallowells' +had vastly improved upon this. Courtesy had, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +a matter of fact, cost them a good deal; but the +rewards of the investment had been magnificent. +Mr. Miller had known that if you say to people +often enough "See how courteous I am," you are +to all intents and purposes courteous. But what +Mr. Miller had not known had been the precise point +at which it is necessary to begin to build up a +strained reputation again. Commercial credit too, +like those joints Stan carved, comes in in two-pence-halfpennies +but goes out in threepences.... +And so the "knocking" had begun. Rumours +had got about that Hallowells' was a shop where +you were asked, after a few unsuitable articles had +been shown to you, whether you didn't intend to +buy anything, and where you might wait for ten +minutes at a counter while two assistants settled +a private difference behind it. Did Mr. Miller want +her help in restoring the firm's fair name? Did +he intend to offer her another contract? Were +there to be more of Hallowells' plump, ringing +sovereigns—that she would know better how to +take care of this time? It was with difficulty that +she kept her composure as Mr. Miller continued:</p> + +<p>"There's no denying but what inferior minds +have that power," he went sorrowfully on. "They +can't build up an enterprise, but they can knock, +and they been good and busy. You haven't heard +of it? Well, that's good as far as it goes, but they +been at it for all that. Now I don't want to knock +back at your country, Mrs. Tasker, but it seems +to me that's the English character. You're hostile +to the noo. The noo gives you cold feet. You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +got a terrific capacity for stopping put. Your +King Richard Core de Lion did things in a certain +way, and it ain't struck you yet that he's been +stiff and straight quite a while. And so when you +see something with snap and life to it you start +knocking." Mr. Miller spoke almost bitterly. +"But I ain't holding you personally responsible, +Mrs. Tasker. I reckon you're a wonderful woman. +Yours is a reel old family, and if anybody's the +right to knock it's you; but <i>you</i> appreciate the +noo. <i>You</i> look at it in the light of history. <i>You</i> +got the sense of world-progress. <i>You're</i> a sort +of Lady Core de Lion to-day. I haven't forgotten +the Big Idee you started us off with. And so I +come to you, and tell you, straight and fair, we +want you."</p> + +<p>Dorothy was tingling with excitement; but she +took up a piece of sewing—the same piece on which +she had bent her modest gaze when she +had machinated against her aunt on the afternoon on +which Lady Tasker had come on, weary and thirsty, +from The Witan. It was a piece she kept for such +occasions as these. She stitched demurely, and +Mr. Miller went on again:—</p> + +<p>"We want you. We want those bright feminine +brains of yours, Mrs. Tasker. And your ladies' +intooition. We're stuck. We want another Idee +like the last. And so we come to the department +where we got satisfaction before."</p> + +<p>Dorothy spoke slowly. She was glad the pond-room +was beautifully furnished—glad, too, that +the hours Ruth spent over her "brights" were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +not spent in vain. The porcelain gleamed in her +cabinets and the silver twinkled on her tables. At +any rate she did not look poor.</p> + +<p>"This is rather a surprise," she said. "I hardly +know what to say. I hadn't thought of taking on +another contract."</p> + +<p>But here Mr. Miller was prompt enough.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know that we were thinking of a +noo contract exactly. You're a lady with a good +many responsibilities now, and ain't got too much +time for contracts, I guess. No, it ain't a contract. +It's an Idee we want."</p> + +<p>Far more quickly than Dorothy's hopes had risen +they dropped again at this. "An Idee:" naturally!... +Everybody wanted that. She had not +had to hawk an idea like the last—so simple, so +shapely, so beauty-bright. And she had learned +that it is not the ideas, but what follows them, +that pays—the flat and uninspired routine that +forms the everyday work of a lucrative contract. +It is the irony of this gipsy life of living by your +wits. You do a stately thing and starve; you follow +it up—or somebody else does—with faint and +empty echoes of that thing, and you are overfed. +An Idea—but not a contract; a picking of her +brains, but no permanent help against that tide +of tradesman's books that flowed in at the front +door.... And Dorothy knew already that for +another reason Mr. Miller had sought her out in +vain. Ideas are <i>not</i> repeated. They visit us, but +we cannot fetch them. And as for echoes of that +former inspiration of hers, no doubt Mr. Miller<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +had thought of all those for himself and had rejected +them.</p> + +<p>"I see," she said slowly....</p> + +<p>"Well," said Mr. Miller, his worry-map really +piteous, "I wish you could tell me where we've +gone wrong. It must be something in the British +character we ain't appreciated, but what, well, +that gets me. We been Imperialistic. There +ain't been one of our Monthly House Dinners but +what we've had all the Loyal Toasts, one after the +other. There ain't been a Royal Wedding but +what we've had a special window-display, and +christenings the same, and what else you like. We +ain't got gay with the Union Jack nor Rotten +Row nor the House of Lords. We've reminded +folk it was your own King George who said 'Wake +up, England——!'"</p> + +<p>But at this point Mr. Miller's doleful recital was +cut short by a second ring at the bell. Again +Ruth's step was heard in the passage outside, and +again Ruth, loftily sulky but omitting no point +of her duty, stood with the door-knob in her +hand.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Pratt," she announced; and Amory +entered.</p> + +<p>Seeing Mr. Miller, however, she backed again. +Mr. Miller had risen and bowed as if he was giving +some invisible person a "back" for leapfrog.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I do so beg your pardon!" said Amory +hurriedly. "I didn't know you'd anybody here. +But—if I could speak to you for just a moment, +Dorothy—it won't take a minute——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Please excuse me," said Dorothy to Mr. Miller; +and she went out.</p> + +<p>She was back again in less than three minutes. +Her face had an unusual pinkness, but her voice +was calm. She did not sit down again. Neither +did she extend her hand to Mr. Miller in a too abrupt +good-bye. Nevertheless, that worried man bowed +again, and looked round for his hat and stick.</p> + +<p>"I shall have to think over what you've been +saying," Dorothy said. "I've no proposal to +make off-hand, you see—and I'm rather afraid +that just at present I shan't be able to come and +see you——"</p> + +<p>There were signs in Mr. Miller's bearing of another +access of reverence.</p> + +<p>"So I'll write. Or better still, if it's not too +much trouble for you to come and see me again——? Perhaps +I'd better write first.—But you'll have +tea, won't you?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Miller put up a refusing hand.—"No, I +thank you.—So you'll do your possible, Mrs. +Tasker? That's vurry good of you. I'm wurried, +and I rely on your sharp feminine brains. As for +the honorarium, we shan't quarrel about that. I +wish I could have shaken hands with Mr. Stan. +There ain't a happier and prouder moment in a +man's life than——"</p> + +<p>"Good-bye."</p> + +<p>And the father of three little goils of his own +took his leave.</p> + +<p>No sooner had he gone than Dorothy's brows +contracted. She took three strides across the room<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +and rang for Ruth. Never before had she realized +the inferiority, as a means of expressing temper, +of an electric bell to a hand-rung one or to one of +which a yard or two of wire can be ripped from +the wall. Only by mere continuance of pressure +till Ruth came did she obtain even a little relief. +To the high resolve on Ruth's face she paid no +attention whatever.</p> + +<p>"A parcel will be coming from Mrs. Pratt," she +said. "Please see that it goes back at once."</p> + +<p>Ruth's head was heroically high. The late +Mr. Mossop had had his faults, but he had not +kept his finger on electric-bell buttons till she came.</p> + +<p>"No doubt there's them as would give better +satisfaction, m'm," she said warningly.</p> + +<p>But Dorothy rushed on her fate.—"There seems +very little satisfaction anywhere to-day," she +answered.</p> + +<p>"Then I should wish to give the usual notice," +said Ruth.</p> + +<p>"Very well," said the reckless mistress.... +"Ruth!" (Ruth returned). "You forgot what +I said about always shutting the door quietly."</p> + +<p>This time the door close so quietly behind Ruth +that Dorothy heard her outburst into tears on the +other side of it.</p> + +<p>Second-hand woollies for her Bits!... Of +course Amory Pratt had made the proposal with +almost effusive considerateness. No doubt the +twins, Corin and Bonniebell, <i>had</i> outgrown them. +Dorothy did not suppose for a moment that they +were <i>not</i> the best of their kind that money could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +buy; the Pratts seemed to roll in money. And +beyond all dispute the winter <i>might</i> come any +morning now, and the garments <i>would</i> just fit +Jackie. But—her own Bits!... She had had +her back to the bedroom window when the offer +had been made; she knew that her sudden flush +had not showed; and her voice had not changed +as she had deliberately told her lie—that she had +bought the children's winter outfits only the day +before....</p> + +<p>"I'm sure you won't have any difficulty in +giving them away," she had concluded as she had +passed to the bedroom door.</p> + +<p>"Far less difficulty than you'll find here," she +might have added, but had forborne....</p> + +<p>Other children's woollies for her little Jackie!——</p> + +<p>What gave sting to the cut was that Jackie +sorely needed them; but then it was not like +Amory Pratt, Dorothy thought bitterly, to make +a graceful gift of an unrequired thing. She must +blunder into people's necessities. A gift of a useless +Teddy Bear or of a toy that would be broken in a +week Dorothy might not have refused; but mere +need!—"Oh!" Dorothy exclaimed, twisting in +her chair with anger....</p> + +<p>What a day! What a life! And what a little +thing thus to epitomize the whole hopeless standstill +of their circumstances!</p> + +<p>And because it was a little thing, it had a power +over Dorothy that twenty greater things would +not have had. She was about to call the precious +and disparaged Jackie when she thought better<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +of it. Instead, she dropped her face into her hands +and melted utterly. What Ruth did in the kitchen +she did in the pond-room; and Jackie, who caught +the contagion, filled the passage between with an +inconsolable howling.</p> + +<p>It was into this house of lamentation that Stan +entered at half-past four.</p> + +<p>"Steady, there!" he called to his younger son; +and Jackie's bellow ceased instantaneously.</p> + +<p>"Ruth's c'ying, so I c'ied too," he confided +solemnly to his father; and the two entered the +pond-room together, there to find Dorothy also +in tears.</p> + +<p>"Hallo, what's this?" said Stan. "Jackie, +run and tell Ruth to hurry up with tea.... Head +up, Dot—let's have a look at you——"</p> + +<p>Perhaps he meant that Dot should have a look +at him, for his face shone with an—alas!—not +unwonted excitement. Dorothy had seen that +shining before. It usually meant that he had been +let in on the ground floor of the International Syndicate +for the manufacture of pig-spears, or had +secured an option on the world's supply of wooden +pips for blackberry jam, or an agency for a synthesized +champagne. And she never dashed the +perennial hopefulness of it. The poor old boy +would have been heartbroken had he been allowed +to suppose that he was not, in intent at any rate, +supporting his wife and children.</p> + +<p>"What is it, old girl?" he said. "Just feeling +low, eh? Never mind. I've some news for you."</p> + +<p>Dorothy summoned what interest she could,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"Not an agency or anything?" she asked, wiping +her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Better than that."</p> + +<p>"Well, some agencies are very good."</p> + +<p>"Not as good as this!"</p> + +<p>"Put your arm round me. I've been feeling +<i>so</i> wretched!"</p> + +<p>"Come and sit here. There. Wretched, eh? +Well, would three hundred a year cheer you up +any?"</p> + +<p>It would have, very considerably; but Stan's +schemes were seldom estimated to produce a sum +less than that.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" Stan continued. "Paid weekly or +monthly, whichever I like, and a month's screw to +be going on with?"</p> + +<p>Suddenly Dorothy straightened herself in his +arms. She knew that Stan was trying to rouse +her, but he needn't use a joke with quite so sharp +a barb. She sank back again.</p> + +<p>"Don't, dear," she begged. "I know it's stupid +of me, but I'm so dull to-day. You go out somewhere +this evening, and I'll go to bed early and sleep +it off. I shall be all right again in the morning."</p> + +<p>But from the pocket into which she herself had +put four half-crowns that very morning—all she +could spare—Stan drew out a large handful of +silver, with numerous pieces of gold sticking up +among it. A glance told her that Stan was not +likely to have backed a winner at any such price +as that. Other people did, but not Stan. She +had turned a little pale.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Tell me, quick, Stan!" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"You laughed rather at the Fortune & Brooks +idea, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't joke, darling!——"</p> + +<p>"Eh?... I say, you're upset. Anything been +happening to-day? Look here, let me get you a +drink or something!"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean—you've got a job, Stan?"</p> + +<p>"Rather!—I say, do let me get you a drink——"</p> + +<p>"I shall faint if you don't tell me——"</p> + +<p>She probably would....</p> + +<p>Stan had got a job. What was it, this job that +had enabled Stan to come home, before he had +lifted a finger to earn it, with masses of silver in +his pocket, and the clean quids sticking up out of +the lump like almonds out of a trifle?</p> + +<p>—He would have to lift more than a finger before +that money was earned. He would have to hang +on wires by his toes, and to swim streams, and to be +knocked down by runaway horses, and to dash +into burning houses, and to fling himself on desperate +men, and to ascend into the air in water-planes +and to descend in submarines into the deep. +Hydrants would be turned on him, and sacks of flour +poured on him, and hogsheads of whitewash and +bags of soot. Not for his brains, but for his good +looks and steady nerves and his hard physical +condition had he been the chosen one among many. +For Stan had joined a Film Producing Company, +less as an actor than as an acrobat. Go and see +him this evening. He is as well worth your hour +as many a knighted actor. And the scene from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +"Quentin Durward," in which Bonthron is strung +up with the rope round his neck, is not fake. They +actually did string Stan up, in the studio near +Barnet that had been a Drill Hall, and came +precious near to hanging him into the bargain.</p> + +<p>But he passed lightly over these and other perils +as he poured it all out to Dorothy at tea. Pounds, +not perils, were the theme of his song.</p> + +<p>"I didn't say anything about it for fear it didn't +come off," he said, "but I've been expecting it for +weeks." He swallowed tea and cake at a rate +that must have put his internal economy to as +severe a strain as "Mazeppa" (Historical Film +Series, No. XII) afterwards did his bones and +muscles. "I start on Monday, so breakfast at +eight, sharp, Dot. 'Lola Montez.' They've got +a ripping little girl as Lola; took her out to tea +and shopping the other day; I'll bring her round." +("No you don't—not with me sitting here like a +Jumping Bean," quoth Dorothy). "Oh, that's all +right—she's getting married herself next month—furnishing +her flat now—I helped her to choose +her electric-light fittings—you'd like her.... +<i>Ain't</i> it stunning, Dot!——"</p> + +<p>It was stunning. Part of the stunningness of +it was that Dorothy, with an abrupt "Excuse me +a moment," was enabled to cross to her desk and +to dash off a note to Harrods. Second-hand woollies +for her Bits! Oh no, not if she knew it!... +"Yes, go on, dear," she resumed, returning to the +tea-table again. "No, I don't wish it was something +else. If we're poor we're poor, and the Services<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +are out of the question, and it's just as good +as lots of other jobs.—And oh, that reminds me: +I had Mr. Miller in this afternoon!"...</p> + +<p>"And oh!" said Stan ten minutes later; "I +forgot, too! I met a chap, too—forgotten all about +it. That fellow I gave a dressing-down about +India to up at the Pratts' there. He stopped me +in the street, and what do you think? It was +all I could do not to laugh. He asked me whether +I could put him on to a job! Me, who haven't +started myself yet!... I said I could put him +on to a drink if that would do—I had to stand +somebody a drink, just to wet my luck, and I didn't +see another soul—and I fetched it all out of my +pocket in a pub in St. Martin's Lane—," he fetched +it all out of his pocket again now, "—fetched it +out as if it was nothing—you should have seen +him look at it!—Strong his name is—didn't catch +it that day he was burbling such stuff——"</p> + +<p>Dorothy's eyes shone. Dear old Stan! That +too pleased her. No doubt the Pratts would be +told that Stan was going about so heavily laden +with money that he had to divide the weight in +order not to walk lopsided——</p> + +<p>Worn woollies for His Impudence's Bits!——</p> + +<p>Rather not! There would be a parcel round +from Harrods' to-morrow!</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> +<h2>VI</h2> + +<h3>POLICY</h3> + + +<p>Amory would have been far less observant +than she was had it not occurred to her, +as she left Dorothy's flat that day, that she had +been hustled out almost unceremoniously. She +hoped—she sincerely hoped—that she did not see +the reason. To herself, as to any other person +not absolutely case-hardened by prejudice, the +thing that presented itself to her mind would not +have been a reason at all; but these conventional +people were so extraordinary, and in nothing +more extraordinary than in their regulations for +receiving callers of the opposite sex. That was +what she meant by the vulgarizing of words and +the leaping to ready-made conclusions. A conventional +person coming upon herself and Mr. +Strong closeted together would have his stereotyped +explanation; but that was no reason why +anybody clearer-eyed and more open-minded and +generous-hearted should fall into the same degrading +supposition. It would be ridiculous to suppose +that there was "anything" between Dorothy and +Mr. Miller. Amory knew that in the past Dorothy +had had genuine business with Mr. Miller. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +so now had she herself with Mr. Strong. And as +for Stan's going about in open daylight with a +"dark Spanish type"—a type traditionally wickeder +than any other—Amory thought nothing of that +either. Stan had as much right to go about with +his Spanish female as Cosimo had to take Britomart +Belchamber to a New Greek Society matinée +or to one of Walter's Lectures. Amory would +never have dreamed of putting a false interpretation +on these things.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, her visit <i>had</i> been cut singularly +short, and Dorothy plainly <i>had</i> wanted to be rid +of her. Because hearts are kind eyes need not +necessarily be blind. Amory could not conceal +from herself that in magnanimously passing these +things over as nothing, she was, after all, making +Dorothy a present of a higher standard than she +had any right to. Judged by her own standards +(which was all the judgment she could strictly +have claimed), there was—Amory would not say +a fishiness about the thing—in fact she would not +say anything about it at all. The less said the +better. Pushed to its logically absurd conclusion, +Dorothy's standard meant that whenever people +of both sexes met they should not be fewer than +three in number. In Amory's saner view, on the +other hand, two, or else a crowd, was far more interesting. +Nobody except misanthropists talked +about the repulsion of sex. Very well: if it was +an attraction, it <i>was</i> an attraction. And if it was +an attraction to Amory, it was an attraction to +Dorothy also; if to Cosimo, then to Stan as well.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +The only difference was that she and Cosimo openly +admitted it and acted upon it, while Stan and +Dorothy did not admit it, but probably acted +furtively on it just the same.</p> + +<p>It was very well worth the trouble of the call +to have her ideas on the subject so satisfactorily +cleared up.</p> + +<p>At the end of the path between the ponds she +hesitated for a moment, uncertain whether to keep +to the road or to strike across the sodden Heath. +She decided for the Heath. Mr. Strong had said +that he might possibly come in that afternoon +to discuss the Indian policy, and she did not want +to keep him waiting.</p> + +<p>Then once more she remembered her unceremonious +dismissal, and reflected that after all +that had left her with time on her hands. She +would take a turn. It would only bore her to +wait in The Witan alone, or, which was almost +the same thing, with Cosimo. The Witan was +rather jolly when there were crowds and crowds of +people there; otherwise it was dull.</p> + +<p>She turned away to the right, passed the cricket-pitch, +found the cycle track, and wandered down +towards the Highgate ponds.</p> + +<p>She had reached the model-yacht pond, and was +wondering whether she should extend her walk still +further, when she saw ahead of her, sitting on a +bench beneath an ivied stump, two figures deep in +conversation. She recognized them at a glance. +They were the figures of Cosimo and Britomart Belchamber. +Britomart was looking absently away<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +over the pond; Cosimo was whispering in her ear. +Another second or two and Amory would have +walked past them within a yard.</p> + +<p>Now Amory and Cosimo had married on certain +express understandings, of which a wise and far-sighted +anticipation of the various courses that +might be taken in the event of their not getting +on very well together had formed the base. Therefore +the little warm flurry she felt suddenly at her +heart could not possibly have been a feeling of +liberation. How could it, when there was nothing +to be liberated from? Just as much liberty as +either might wish had been involved in the contract +itself, and a formal announcement of intention +on either part was to be considered a valid release.</p> + +<p>And so, in spite of that curious warm tingle, +Amory was not one atom more free, nor one atom +less free, to develop (did she wish it) a relationship +with anybody else—Edgar Strong or anybody—than +she had been before. She saw this perfectly +clearly. She had talked it all over with Cosimo +scores of times. Why, then, did she tingle? Was +it that they had not talked it over enough?</p> + +<p>No. It was because of a certain furtiveness +on Cosimo's part. Evidently he wished to "take +action" (if she might use the expression without +being guilty of a vulgarized meaning) <i>without</i> +having made his formal announcement. That +she had come upon them so far from The Witan +was evidence of this. They had deliberately chosen +a part of the Heath they had thought it unlikely +Amory would visit. They could have done—whatever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +they were doing—under her eyes had +they wished, but they had stolen off together instead. +It was a breach of the understanding.</p> + +<p>Before they had seen her, she left the path, +struck across the grass behind them, and turned +her face homewards. She was far, far too proud +to look back. Certainly it was his duty to have +let her know. Never mind. Since he hadn't....</p> + +<p>Yet the tingling persisted, coming and going in +quite pleasurable little shocks. Then all at once +she found herself wondering how far Cosimo and +Britomart had gone, or would go. Not that it +was any business of hers. She was not her husband's +keeper. It would be futile to try to keep somebody +who evidently didn't want to be kept. It would +also take away the curious subtle pleasure of that +thrill.</p> + +<p>She was not conscious that she quickened the +steps that took her to the studio, where by this time +Edgar Strong probably awaited her.</p> + +<p>Most decidedly Cosimo ought to have given her +warning——</p> + +<p>As for Britomart Belchamber—sly creature—no +doubt she had persuaded him to slink away like +that——</p> + +<p>Well, there would be time enough to deal with her +by and bye——</p> + +<p>Amory reached The Witan again.</p> + +<p>As she entered the hall a maid was coming out of +the dining-room. Amory called her.</p> + +<p>"Has Mr. Strong been in?"</p> + +<p>"He's in the studio, m'm," the maid replied.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Are the children with Miss Belchamber?"</p> + +<p>"No, m'm. They're with nurse, m'm."</p> + +<p>"Is Miss Belchamber in her room?"</p> + +<p>"No, m'm. She's gone out."</p> + +<p>"How long ago?"</p> + +<p>"About an hour, m'm."</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Pratt in?"</p> + +<p>"I think so, m'm. I'll go and inquire."</p> + +<p>"Never mind. I'm going upstairs."</p> + +<p>Ah! Then they had gone out separately, by +pre-arrangement! More slyness! And this was +Cosimo's "pretence" at being Miss Belchamber's +devoted admirer! Of course, if there had been +any pretence at all about it, it would have had to +be that he was not her admirer. Very well; they +would see about that, too, later!——</p> + +<p>She went quickly to her own room, changed +her blouse for a tea-gown, and then, with that +tingling at her heart suddenly warm and crisp +again, descended to the studio.</p> + +<p>It was high time (she told herself) that the "Novum's" +Indian policy was definitely settled. Mr. +Strong also said so, the moment he had shaken +hands with her and said "Good afternoon." But +Mr. Strong spoke bustlingly, as if the more haste +he made the more quickly the job would be over.</p> + +<p>"Now these are the lines we have to choose +from," he said....</p> + +<p>And he enumerated a variety of articles they +had in hand, including Mr. Prang's.</p> + +<p>"Then there's this," he said....</p> + +<p>He told Amory about a crisis in the Bombay<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +cotton trade, and of a scare in the papers that +very morning about heavy withdrawals of native +capital from the North Western Banks....</p> + +<p>"But I think the best thing of all would be for +me to write an article myself," he said, "and to back +it up with a number of Notes. What I really want +cleared up is our precise objective. I want to +know what that's to be."</p> + +<p>"We'll have tea in first, and then we shall be +undisturbed," said Amory.</p> + +<p>"Better wait for Cosimo, hadn't we?"</p> + +<p>"He's out," said Amory, passing to the bell.</p> + +<p>She sat down on the corner of the sofa, and +watched the maid bring in tea. Mr. Strong, who +had placed himself on the footstool and was making +soughing noises by expelling the air from his locked +hands, appeared to be brooding over his forthcoming +number. But that quick little tingle of +half an hour before had had a curious after-affect +on Amory. How it had come about she did not +know, but the fact remained that she was not, +now, so very sure that even the "Novum" was +quite as great a thing as she had supposed it to be. +Or rather, if the "Novum" itself was no less great, +she had, quite newly, if dimly, foreseen herself in a +more majestic rôle than that of a mere technical +<i>directrice</i>.</p> + +<p>Politics? Yes, it undoubtedly was the Great +Game. Strong men fancied themselves somewhat +at it, and conceited themselves, after the +fashion of men, that it was they who wrought this +marvel or that. But was it? Had there not been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +women so much stronger than they that, doing +apparently nothing, their nothings had been more +potent than all the rest? She began to give her +fancy play. For example, there was that about a +face launching a thousand ships. That was an old +story, of course; if a face could launch a thousand +ships so many centuries ago, there was practically +no limit to its powers with the British Navy at its +present magnificent pitch of numerical efficiency. +But that by the way. It was the idea that had +seized Amory. Say a face—Helen's, she thought +it was—had launched a thousand, or even five +hundred ships; where was the point? Why, +surely that that old Greek Lord High Admiral, +whoever he was—(Amory must look him up; +chapter and verse would be so very silencing if she +ever had occasion to put all this into words)—surely +he had thought, as all men thought, that he was +obeying no behest but his own. The chances were +that he had hardly wasted a thought on Helen's +face as a factor in the launching....</p> + +<p>Yet Helen's face had been the real launching +force, or rather the brain behind Helen's face ... +but Amory admitted that she was not quite sure +of her ground there. Perhaps she was mixing +Helen up with somebody else. At any rate, if she +was wrong about Helen she was not wrong about +Catherine of Russia. Nor about Cleopatra. Nor +about the Pompadour. These had all had brains, +far superior to the brains of their men, which they +had used through the medium of their beauty. +She knew this because she had been reading about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +them quite recently, and could put her finger on +the very page; she had a wonderful memory for +the places in books in which passages occurred.... +So there were Catherine the Second, and Cleopatra, +and the Pompadour, even if she had been wrong +about Helen. That was a curious omission of +Homer's, by the way—or was it Virgil?—the omission +of all reference to the brain behind. Perhaps +it had seemed so obvious that he took it for granted. +But barring that, the notion of a face launching +the ships was very fine. It was the Romantic +Point of View. Hitherto Amory had passed over +the Romantic Point of View rather lightly, but +now she rather thought there was a good deal in +it. At any rate that about the face of a woman +being the real launching-force of a whole lot of +ships—well, it was an exaggeration, of course, +and in a sense only a poetic way of putting it—but +it was quite a ripping idea.</p> + +<p>So if a ship could be launched, apparently, not +by a mere material knocking away of the thingummy, +but by the timeless beauty of a face, an +Indian policy ought not to present more difficulties. +At all events it was worth trying. Perhaps "trying" +was not exactly the word. These things happened +or they didn't happen. But anybody not +entirely stupid would know what Amory meant.</p> + +<p>The maid lighted the little lamp under the water-vessel +that kept the muffins hot and then withdrew. +Amory turned languidly to Mr. Strong.</p> + +<p>"Would you mind pouring out the tea? I'm +so lazy," she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<p>She had put her feet up on the sofa, and her +hands were clasped behind her head. The attitude +allowed the wide-sleeved tea-gown into which she +had changed to fall away from her upper arm, +showing her satiny triceps. The studio was warm; +it might be well to open the window a little; and +Amory, from her sofa, gave the order. It seemed +to her that she had not given orders enough from +sofas. She had been doing too much of the work +herself instead of lying at her ease and stilly willing +it to be done. She knew better now. It was +much better to take a leaf out of the book of <i>les +grandes maitresses</i>. She recognized that she ought +to have done that long ago.</p> + +<p>So Mr. Strong brought her tea, and then returned +to his footstool again, where he ate enormous +mouthfuls of muffin, spreading anchovy-paste +over them, and drank great gulps of tea. He fairly +made a meal of it. But Amory ate little, and +allowed her tea to get cold. The cast which Stan +had coarsely called "the fore-quarter" had been +hung up on the wall at the sofa's end, and her eyes +were musingly upon it. The trotter lay out of sight +behind her.</p> + +<p>"Well, about that thing of Prang's," said Mr. +Strong when he could eat no more. "Hadn't we +better be settling about it?"</p> + +<p>"Don't shout across the room," said Amory +languidly, and perhaps a little pettishly. She was +wondering what was the matter with her hand that +Mr. Strong had not kissed it when he had said good +afternoon. He had kissed it on a former occasion.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Head bad?" said Mr. Strong.</p> + +<p>"No, my head's all right, but there's no reason +we should edit the 'Novum' from the housetops."</p> + +<p>"Was I raising my voice? Sorry."</p> + +<p>Mr. Strong rose from his footstool and took up a +station between the tea-table and the asbestos log.</p> + +<p>Amory was getting rather tired of hearing about +that thing of Prang's. She did not see why Mr. +Strong should shuffle about it in the way he did. +The article had been twice "modified," that was +to say more or less altered, and Amory could hardly +be expected to go on reading it in its various forms +for ever. What did Mr. Strong want? If he +whittled much more at Mr. Prang's clear statement +of a point of view of which the single virtue was its +admitted extremeness, he would be reducing the +"Novum" to the level of mere Liberalism, and +they had long ago decided that, of the Conservative +who opposed and the Liberal who killed by insidious +kindnesses, the former was to be preferred +as a foe. Besides, there was an alluring glow about +Mr. Prang's way of writing. No doubt that was +part and parcel of the glamour of the East. The +Eastern style, like the Eastern blood, had more +sun in it. Keats had put that awfully well, in +the passage about "parched Abyssinia" and "old +Tartary the Fierce," and so had that modern man, +who had spoken of Asia as lying stretched out "in +indolent magnificence of bloom." Yes, there was +a funny witchery about Asia. In all sorts of ways +they "went it" in Asia. Bacchus had had a spree<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +there, and it was there—or was that Egypt?—that +Cleopatra or the Queen of Sheba or somebody had +smuggled her satiny self into a roll of carpets and +had had herself carried as a present to King Solomon +or Mark Antony or whoever it was. It seemed +to be in the Asian atmosphere, and Mr. Prang's prose +style had a smack of it too. Mr. Strong—his literary +style, of course, she meant—might have been all +the better for a touch of that blood-warmth and +thrill....</p> + +<p>And there were ripping bits of reckless passion +in Herodotus too.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Strong continued to stand between the +tea-table and the asbestos log, and to let fall +irresolute sentences from time to time. Prang, +he said, really was a bit stiff, and he, Mr. Strong, +wasn't sure that he altogether liked certain responsibilities. +Not that he had changed his mind +in the least degree. He only doubted whether +in the long run it would pay the "Novum" itself +to acquire a reputation for exploiting what everybody +else knew as well as they did, but left severely +alone. In fact, he had assumed, when he had +taken the job on, that the work for which he received +only an ordinary working-salary would be conditioned +by what other editors did and received +for doing it.... At that Amory looked +up.</p> + +<p>"Oh? But I thought that the truth, regardless +of consequences, was our motto?"</p> + +<p>"Of course—without fear or favour in a sense—but +where there are extra risks——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> + +<p>What did this slow-coach of a man mean?——"What +risks?" Amory asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Well, say risks to Cosimo as proprietor."</p> + +<p>"You mean he might lose his money?" she +said, with a glance round the satiny triceps and +the apple-bud of an elbow.</p> + +<p>"Well—does he <i>want</i> to lose his money?—What +I mean is, that we aren't paying our way—we've +scarcely any advertisements, you see——"</p> + +<p>"I think that what you mean is that we ought +to become Liberals?" There was a little ring +in Amory's voice.</p> + +<p>Mr. Strong made no reply.</p> + +<p>"Or Fabians, perhaps?"</p> + +<p>Still Mr. Strong did not answer.</p> + +<p>"Because if you <i>do</i> mean that, I can only say +I'm—disappointed in you!"</p> + +<p>Now those who knew Edgar Strong the best +knew how exceedingly sensitive he was to those +very words—"I'm disappointed in you." In his +large and varied experience they were invariably +the prelude to the sack. And he very distinctly +did not want the sack—not, at any rate, until he had +got something better. Perhaps he reasoned within +himself that, of himself and Prang, he would +be the more discreet editor, and so lifted the question +a whole plane morally higher. Perhaps, if +it came to the next worst, he was prepared to accept +the foisting of Prang upon him and to take his +chance. Anyway, his face grew very serious, and +he reached for the footstool, drew it close up to +Amory's couch, and sat down on it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I wonder," he said slowly, looking earnestly +at his folded hands, "whether you'll put the worst +interpretation on what I'm going to say."</p> + +<p>Amory waited. She dropped the satiny-white +upper arm. Mr. Strong resumed, more slowly still—</p> + +<p>"It's this. We're risking things. Cosimo's risking +his money, but he may be risking more than +that. And if he risks it, so do I."</p> + +<p>Into Amory's pretty face had come the look of +the woman who prefers men to take risks rather +than to talk about them.—"What do you risk?" +she asked in tones that once more chilled Mr. Strong.</p> + +<p>"Well, for one thing, a prosecution. Prang's +rather a whole-hogger. It's what I said before—we +want to use him, not have him use us."</p> + +<p>"Oh?" said Amory with a faint smile. "And +can't you manage Mr. Prang?"</p> + +<p>There was no doubt at all in Mr. Strong's mind +what that meant. "Because if you can't," it +plainly meant, "I dare say we can find somebody +who can." Without any qualification whatever, +she really was beginning to be a little disappointed +in him. She wondered how Cleopatra or the Queen +of Sheba would have felt (had such a thing been +conceivable) if, when that carpet had been carried +by the Nubians into her lover's presence and unrolled, +Antony or whatever his name was had +blushed and turned away, too faint-hearted to +take the gift the gods offered him? Risks! Weren't—Indian +policies—worth a little risk?...</p> + +<p>Besides, no doubt Cosimo was still with Britomart +Belchamber....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> + +<p>She put her hands behind her head again and +gave a little laugh.</p> + +<p>Well, (as Edgar Strong himself might have put +it in the days when his conversation had been +slangier than it was now), it was up to him to make +good pretty quickly or else to say good-bye to the +editorship of a rag that at least did one bit of good +in the world—paid Edgar Strong six pounds a week. +And if it must be done it must, that was all. Damn +it!...</p> + +<p>Perhaps the satiny upper arm decided his next +action. Once before he had made its plaster facsimile +serve his turn, and on the whole he would +have preferred to be able to do so again; but even +had that object not been out of reach on the wall +and its original not eighteen inches away at the +sofa's end, three hundred pounds a year in jeopardy +must be made surer than that. He would have +given a month's screw could Cosimo have come in +at that moment. He actually did give a quick glance +in the direction of the door....</p> + +<p>But no help came.</p> + +<p>Damn it——!</p> + +<p>The next moment he had kissed that satiny +surface, and then, gloomily, and as one who shoulders +the consequences of an inevitable act, stalked +away and stood in the favourite attitude of Mr. +Brimby's heroes under great stress of emotion—with +his head deeply bowed and his back to Amory. +There fell between them a silence so profound that +either became conscious at the same moment of +the soft falling of rain on the studio roof.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then, after a full minute and a half, Mr. Strong, +still without turning, walked to the table on which +his hat lay. Always without looking at Amory, +he moved towards the door.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," he said over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>There was the note of a knell in his tone. He +meant good-bye for ever. All in a moment Amory +knew that on the morrow Cosimo would receive +Edgar Strong's formal resignation from the "Novum's" +editorial chair, and that, though Edgar +might retain his hold on the paper until his successor +had been found, he would never come to +The Witan any more. He had called Mr. Prang +a whole-hogger, but in Love he himself appeared +to be rather a whole-hogger. He had all but told +her that to see her again would mean ... she +trembled. The alternative was not to see her +again. His whole action had said, more plainly than +any words could say, "After that—all or nothing."</p> + +<p>She had not moved. She hardly knew the voice +for her own in which she said, still without turning +her head, "Wait—a minute——"</p> + +<p>Mr. Strong waited. The minute for which she +asked passed.</p> + +<p>"One moment——," murmured Amory again.</p> + +<p>At last Mr. Strong lifted his head.—"There's +nothing to say," he said.</p> + +<p>"I'm thinking," Amory replied in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Really nothing."</p> + +<p>"Give me just a minute——"</p> + +<p>For she was thinking that it was her face, nothing +else, that had launched him thus to the door. For<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +a moment she felt compunction for its tyranny. +Poor fellow, what else had he been able to do?... +Yet what, between letting him go and bidding him +stay, was she herself to do? At his touch her +heart had swelled—been constricted—either—both; +even had she not known that she was a pretty +woman, now at any rate she had put it to the +proof; and the chances seemed real enough that +if he turned and looked at her now, he must give +a cry, stride across the studio floor, and take her +in his arms. Dared she provoke him?...</p> + +<p>The moment she asked herself whether she +dared she did dare. Not to have dared would to +have been to be inferior to those great and splendid +and reckless ones who had turned their eyes on +their lovers and had whispered, "Antony—Louis—I +am here!" If she courted less danger than +she knew, her daring remained the same. And +the room itself backed her up. So many doctrines +were enunciated in that studio, the burden of one +and all of which was "Why not?" The atmosphere +was charged with permissions ... perhaps +for him too. He was at the door now. It +was only the turning of a key....</p> + +<p>Amory's low-thrilled voice called his name across +the studio.</p> + +<p>"Edgar——"</p> + +<p>But he had thought no less quickly than she. +He had turned. Shrewdly he guessed that she +meant nothing; so much the better—damn it! +There was something female about Edgar Strong; +he knew more about some things than a young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +man ought to know; and in an instant he had +found the "line" he meant to take. It was the +"line" of honour rooted in dishonour—the "line" +of Cosimo his friend—the "line" of black treachery +to the hand that fed him with muffins and anchovy +paste—or, failing these, the all-or-nothing "line."... +But on the whole he would a little rather go +straight than not....</p> + +<p>Nor did he hesitate. Amory had turned on the +sofa. "Edgar!" she had called softly again. +He swung round. The savagery of his reply—there +seemed to Amory to be no other word to describe +it—almost frightened her.</p> + +<p>"Do you know what you're doing?" he broke +out. "Haven't you done enough already? What +do you suppose I'm made of?"</p> + +<p>The moment he had said it he saw that he had +made no mistake. It would not be necessary to +go the length of turning the key. He glared at +her for a moment; then he spoke again, less +savagely, but no less curtly.</p> + +<p>"You called me back to say something," he +said. "What is it?"</p> + +<p>Instinctively Amory had covered her face with +her hands. It was fearfully sweet and dangerous. +Flattery could hardly have gone further than that +tortured cry, "What do you think I'm made of?" +Her heart was thumping—thump, thump, thump, +thump. A lesser woman would have taken refuge +in evasions, but not she—not she, with Cosimo +carrying on with Britomart, and Dorothy Tasker +no doubt whispering to her Otis or Wilbur or whatever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +her American's name might be, and Stan +perhaps deep in an intrigue with his Spanish female +at that very moment. No, she had provoked him, +and he had now every right to cry, not "Have +you read '<i>The Tragic Comedians</i>'?" but "Do +you know what you're doing?"... And he +was speaking again now.</p> + +<p>"Because," he was saying quietly, "if <i>that's</i> +it ... I must know. I must have a little time. +There will be things to settle. I don't quite know +how it happened; I suddenly saw you—and did +it. Anyway, it's done—or begun.... But I won't +stab Cosimo in the back.... It will have to be +the Continent, I suppose. Paris. There's a little +hotel I know in the Boulevard Montparnasse. It's +not very luxurious, but it's cheap and fairly clean. +Seven francs a day, but it would come rather less +for the two of us. And you wouldn't have to spend +much on dress in the Quartier. Or there's Montmartre. +Or some of those out-of-the-way seaside +places. I should like to take you to the sea first, +and then to a town——"</p> + +<p>He stopped, and began to walk up and down +the studio.</p> + +<p>Amory was suddenly pale. She had not thought +of this. She had thought that perhaps Mr. Strong +might give a cry, rush across the studio, and take +her in his arms; but of this cold and almost passionless +prevision of details she had not dreamed. And +yet that was magnificent too. Edgar wasted no +time in dalliance when there was planning to be +done. There would be time enough for softer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +delights when the whole of the Latin Quarter lay +spread out before them in indolent magnificence +of bloom. He was terrifying and superb. Such +a man not manage Mr. Prang! Why, here he was, +ready to bear her off that very night at a word!</p> + +<p>Paris—Montmartre—the Quartier!</p> + +<p>It was Romance with a vengeance!</p> + +<p>Then at a thought she grew paler still. The +children! What about Corin and Bonniebell? It +didn't matter so much about Cosimo; it would +serve him right; but what about the twins? Were +they also to be included in the seven francs a day? +And wouldn't it matter how they dressed either +in the Quarter? Or did Edgar propose that they +should be left behind in Cosimo's keeping, with +Britomart Belchamber for a stepmother?</p> + +<p>Edgar had reached the door again now. He was +not hurrying her, but there was a look on his face +that seemed to say that all she needed was a hat +and a rug for the steamer.</p> + +<p>Such a very different thing from a carpet to +roll round her——</p> + +<p>She had risen unsteadily from the sofa. She +crossed the floor and stood before Edgar, looking +earnestly up into his blue eyes. She moistened +her lips.</p> + +<p>"What's happened——" she began in a +whisper....</p> + +<p>He interrupted her only to make the slightest +of forbidding gestures with his hand; her own +hands had moved, as if she would have put them +on his shoulders. And she saw that he was quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +right. At the touch of her his control would certainly +have broken down. She went on, appealingly +and almost voicelessly.</p> + +<p>"What's happened—had to happen, hadn't +it?" she whispered. "<i>You</i> felt it sweeping us +away too—didn't you?... But need we say +any more about it to-night?... I want to think, +Edgar. We must both think. There's—there's +a lot to think about—and talk over. We mustn't +be too rash. It <i>would</i> be rash, wouldn't it? Look +at me, Edgar——"</p> + +<p>"Oh—I must go——," he said with an impatience +that he had not to assume.</p> + +<p>"But look at me," she begged. "I shan't sleep +a wink to-night. I shall think about it all night. +It will be lovely—but torturing—dear!—But you'll +sleep, I expect...." She pouted this last.</p> + +<p>"I'm going away," he announced abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she cried, startled.... "But you'll +come in to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"I shall go away for a few days. Perhaps longer."</p> + +<p>"But—but—we haven't settled about the +paper!——"</p> + +<p>He was grim.—"You don't suppose I can think +about the paper <i>now</i>, do you?"</p> + +<p>"No, no—of course not—but it <i>must</i> be done +to-day, Edgar! Or to-morrow at the very latest!... +Can't we <i>try</i> to put this on one side, just for +an hour?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head before the impossibility....</p> + +<p>And that was how it came about that the Indian +policy of the "Novum" was left in the hands of +Mr. Suwarree Prang.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> +<h2>Part II</h2> + + + +<h2>I</h2> + +<h3>THE PIGEON PAIR</h3> + + +<p>Amory had been at a great deal of trouble +to gather all the opinions she could get +about the education of her twins, Corin and Bonniebell; +but it was not true, as an unkind visitor +who had been once only to The Witan had said, +that they were everybody's children. Just because +Amory had taken Katie Deedes' advice and had +had their hair chopped off short at the nape like +a Boutet de Monvel drawing—and had not disdained +to accept the spelling-books which Dickie Lemesurier +had given them (books in which the difficult +abstraction of the letter "A" was visualized for +their young eyes as "Little Brown Brother," +"B" as "Tabby Cat," and so on)—and had listened +to Mr. Brimby when he had said what a good +thing it would be to devote an hour on Friday +afternoons to the study of Altruism and Camaraderie—and, +in a word, had not been too proud +and egotistical to make use of a good suggestion +wherever she found it—because she had done these +things, it did not at all follow that she had shirked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +her duties. If she did not influence them directly, +having other things to do, she influenced those +who did influence them, which came to the same +thing. She influenced the Wyrons, for example, +and nobody could say that the Wyrons had not +made a particularly careful study of children. +They had, and Walter had founded at least two +Lectures directly on the twins and their education.</p> + +<p>But the Wyrons, who had submitted to the +indignity of marriage for the sake of the race, +laboured and lectured under an obvious disadvantage; +they had no children of their own. And +so Amory had to fill up the gaps in their experience +for herself. Still, it was wonderful how frequently +the Wyrons' excogitations and the things Amory +had found out for herself coincided. They were +in absolute accord, for example, about the promise +of the immediate future and the hope that lay +in the generation to come. The Past was dead +and damned; the Present at best was an ignoble +compromise; but the Morrow was to be bright +and shining.</p> + +<p>"Walter and I," Laura sometimes said sadly, +"aren't anything to brag about. There is much +of the base in us. Our lives aren't what they +should be. We're in the grip of inherited instincts +too. We strive for the best, but the worst's sometimes +too much for us. It's like Moses seeing +the Promised Land from afar. We're just in the +position of Moses. But these young Aarons——"</p> + +<p>Amory thought that very modest and dignified +of poor old Laura. She frequently thought of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +as 'poor old Laura,' but of course she didn't mean +her actual age, which was only two years more than +Amory's own. And that was very good, if a little +sad, about Moses. The Wyrons did look forth +over a Canaan they weren't very likely ever to +tread.</p> + +<p>Lately—that is to say since that secret and +tremendous moment between herself and Edgar +Strong in the studio—Amory had fallen into the +habit of musing long over the sight of the twins at +lessons, at play, or at that more enlightened combination +that makes lessons play and play lessons. +Sometimes Mr. Brimby, the novelist, had come up +to her as she had mused and had asked her what +she was thinking about.</p> + +<p>"Your little Pigeon Pair, eh?" he had said. +"Ah, the sweetness; ah, lucky mother! Grey +books have to be the children of some of us; ah, +me; yours is a pleasanter path!"</p> + +<p>Then he would fondle the little round topiary +trees of their heads. Amory was almost as sorry +for Mr. Brimby as she was for Laura. His books +sold only moderately well, and she had more than +once thought she would like the "Novum" to +serialize one of them—the one with the little boy +rather like Corin and the little girl rather like +Bonniebell in it—if Mr. Brimby didn't want too +much money for it.</p> + +<p>Edgar Strong, on the other hand, never fondled +the children, and Amory's heart told her why. How +could he be expected to do anything but hate those +poor innocents who had come between him and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +his desire? He must have realized that only the +twins had frustrated that flight to Paris. Of course +he was polite about it; he said that he was not +very fond of children at all; but Amory was not +deceived. She was, in a way, flattered that he +did not fondle them. It was such an eloquent +abstention. But it would have been more eloquent +still had he come to The Witan and not-fondled +them oftener.</p> + +<p>Therefore it was that Amory looked on Corin +and Bonniebell as the precious repositories of her +own relinquished joys, and heirs to a happier life +than she herself had known. She dreamed over +them and their future. Laura Wyron was quite +right: by the time they had grown up the fogs of +cowardice and prejudice and self-seeking would +have disappeared for ever. Perhaps even by that +time, as in Heaven, there would be no more marrying +nor giving in marriage. Things would have adjusted +themselves out of the rarer and sweeter and more +liberal atmosphere. Corin, grown to be twenty, +would one day meet with some mite who was +still in her cradle or not yet born, and the two +would look at one another with amazement and +delight, and the Ideal Love would be born in their +eyes, and Corin would recite a few of those brave +and pure and unashamed things out of "Leaves +of Grass" to her, and—well, and there they would +be.... And Bonniebell, too, would do the +same, on a Spring morning very likely, simply clad, +cool and without immodest blushes—yes, she too +would see somebody, and she would say, gladly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +and simply, "I am here" (for there would be no +reason, then, why she should wait for the youth +to speak first), and—well, and there they would +be too. And it would be Exogamy, or whatever +the word was that Walter used. Either +would go forth from the family on the appointed +day—or perhaps only Corin would go, and Bonniebell +remain behind—but anyway, one, if not both +of them would go forth, and rove the morning-flushed +hills, alone and free and singing and on the +look-out for somebody, and they would look just +like pictures of young Greeks, and nobody would +laugh, as they did at the poor lady who walked in +Greek robes down the Strand....</p> + +<p>And Amory herself? Alas! She would be +left with the tribe. She would be old then—say +fifty-something on the eleventh of October. +And Edgar would be old too. They would have +to recognize that <i>their</i> youth had been spent in +the night-time of ignorance and suspicion. <i>They</i> +would only be able to think of those spirited young +things quoting "Leaves of Grass" to one another +and wondering what had happened to them....</p> + +<p>No wonder Amory was sometimes pensive....</p> + +<p>Mr. Wilkinson, the Labour Member, had been to +all intents and purposes asked not to fondle the +twins. He was a tall spare man with a great +bush of pepper-and-salt hair, a Yorkshire accent, +and an eye that hardly rested on any single object +long enough to get more than a fleeting visual +impression of it. He wrote on the first and third +weeks of the month the "Novum's" column of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +"Military Notes," and on the alternate weeks +filled the same column with officially inspired +"Trade Union Echoes." Between these two activities +of Mr. Wilkinson's there was a connexion. +He, in common with everybody else at The Witan, +was loud in decrying the jobberies and vested +interests of Departments, with the War Office +placed foremost in the shock of his wrath. But +the Trade Unions were another matter, and never +a billet-creating measure came before Parliament +but he strove vehemently to have its wheels cogged +in with those of the existing Trade Union machine. +That is to say, that while in theory he was for +democratic competitive examination, in practice +he found something to be said for jobbery, could +the fitting Trade Unionist but be found. He +was, moreover, a firebrand by temperament, and +this is where the connexion between the "Military +Matters" and the "Echoes" appears. Trade +Unionists he declared, ought to learn to shoot. +The other side, with their cant about "Law and +Order," never hesitated to call out the regular +troops; therefore, until the Army itself should +have been won over by means of the leaflets +that were disseminated for the purpose, they ought +in the event of a strike to be prepared to throw +up barricades, to shoot from cellar-windows, and +to throw down chimney-stacks from the housetops. +Capitalist-employed troops would not destroy +more property than they need; in a crooked-streeted +town the advantage of long-range fire would be +gone; and Mr. Wilkinson was prepared to demonstrate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +that a town defended on his lines could hold +out, in the event of Industrial War pushed to an +extreme, until it was starved into surrender.—These +arguments, by the way, had impressed Mr. +Prang profoundly.</p> + +<p>Now (to come back to the twins) on Corin's +fourth birthday Mr. Wilkinson, moved by these +considerations, had given him a wooden gun, and +in doing so had committed a double error in +Amory's eyes. His first mistake had been to +suppose that even if, under the present lamentable +(but nevertheless existing) conditions of militarism, +Corin should ever become a soldier at all, he would +be the uncommissioned bearer of a gun and not +the commissioned bearer of a sword. And his +second mistake had been like unto it, namely, +to think that, in the case of a proletariat uprising +say in Cardiff or York, Corin would not similarly +have held some post of weight and responsibility +on the other side. Corin shoot up through the +street-trap of a coal-hole or pot somebody from +behind a chimney-stack!... But Amory admitted +that it must be difficult for Mr. Wilkinson +to shake off the effects of his upbringing. That +upbringing had been very different from, say, +Mr. Brimby's. Mr. Brimby had been at Oxford, +and in nobly stooping to help the oppressed brought +as it were a fragrant whiff of graciousness and +culture with him. Mr. Wilkinson was a nobody. +He came from the stratum of need, and, when it +came to fondling the twins, must not think himself +a Brimby.... Therefore, Amory had had to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +ask him to take the gun back (a deprivation +which had provoked a mighty outcry from Corin), +and to give him, if he must give him something, a +Nature book instead.</p> + +<p>Katie Deedes and Dickie Lemesurier were both +permitted to fondle the twins, though in somewhat +different measure. This difference of measure did +not mean that either Katie or Dickie suffered from +a chronic cold that the twins might have contracted. +Here again the case was almost as complicated as +the case of Mr. Wilkinson. Cases had a way of +being complicated at The Witan. It was this:—</p> + +<p>Both of these ladies, as Amory had assured Mr. +Brimby, were "quite all right." She meant socially. +No such difference was to be found between them +in this respect as that which yawned between +Mr. Brimby and Mr. Wilkinson. Indeed as far as +Dickie was concerned, Amory had given a little +apologetic laugh at the idea of her having to place +and appraise a Lemesurier of Bath at all. The +two girls had equally to work for their living, and—but +perhaps it was here that the difference came +in. There are jobs and jobs. It was a question +of tone. Dickie, running the Suffrage Book Shop, +enjoyed something of the glamour of Letters; +but Katie, as manageress of the Eden Restaurant, +was, after all, only a caterer. It was not Amory's +fault that Romance had pronounced arbitrarily +and a little harshly on the relative dignity of these +occupations. She could not help it that books are +books and superior, while baked beans are only +baked beans, necessary, but not to be talked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +about. If Dickie had, by her calling, a shade more +consideration than was strictly her due, while +Katie, by hers, was slightly shorn of something +to which she would otherwise have been entitled, +well, it was not Amory who had arranged it so.</p> + +<p>But between books and baked beans the twins +did not hesitate for an instant. They saw from +no point of view but their unromantic own.</p> + +<p>Dickie, overhauling the remainder stock at the +Suffrage Shop, was able to bring them a book from +time to time; but Katie, whose days were spent +in a really interesting place full of things to eat, +brought them sweetened Proteids, and cold roasted +chestnuts, and sugared Filbertine, and sometimes +a pot of the Eden Non-Neuritic Honey for tea. +And because the flesh was stronger in them than +Amory thought it ought to be (at any rate until +the day should come when they must leave the tribe +with a copy of "Leaves of Grass" in their hands), +they adored Katie and thought very much less of +Dickie.</p> + +<p>Now this belly-guided preference was a thing +to be checked in them; and one day Amory had +asked Katie (quite nicely and gently) whether +she would mind <i>not</i> bringing the children things +that spoiled their appetites, not to speak of their +tempers when they clamoured for these comestibles +at times when they were not to be had. Then, one +afternoon in the nursery, Amory actually had to +repeat her request. Half an hour later, when the +children had been brought down into the studio +for their after-tea hour, she learned that Katie<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +had left the house. It was Corin himself who +informed her of this.</p> + +<p>"Auntie Katie was crying," he said. "About +the vertisements," he added.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ad</i>-vertisements, dear," Amory corrected him. +"Say <i>ad</i>-vertisements, not vertisements."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ad</i>-vertisements," said Corin sulkily. "But—" +and he cheered up again, "—she <i>was</i>, mother."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," said Amory. "And you're not to +say 'Auntie' to Katie. It isn't true. Your Auntie +is your father's or your mother's sister, and we +haven't any.... And now you've played enough. +Say good-night, both of you, and take Auntie +Dickie's book, and ask Miss Belchamber to read +you the story of the Robin and her Darling Eggs, +and then you must have your baths and go to bed."</p> + +<p>"I want the tale about Robin Hood, that Mr. +Strong once told me," Corin demurred.</p> + +<p>"No, you must have the one about the dear +Dickie Bird, who had a wing shot off by a cruel +man one day, and had to hide her head under the +other one, so that when her Darling Eggs were +hatched out the poor little birds were all born with +crooked necks—you remember what I told you +about the fortress in a horrible War, when the poor +mothers were all so frightened that all the little +boys and girls were born lame—it's the same thing—"</p> + +<p>"Were there guns, that went bang?" Corin +demanded. He had forgotten that the story +contained this really interesting detail.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Great big ones?" Corin's eyes were wide open.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very big. It was very cruel and anti-social."</p> + +<p>But Corin's momentary interest waned again.—"I +want Robin Hood," he said sullenly.</p> + +<p>"Now you're being naughty, and I shall have +to send you to bed without any nice reading at all."</p> + +<p>"I want Robin Hood." The tone was ominous....</p> + +<p>"And I want some chestnuts," Bonniebell chimed +in, her face also puckering....</p> + +<p>And so Amory, who had threatened to send +them bookless to bed, must keep her word. It is +very wrong to tell falsehoods to children. She +dismissed them, and they went draggingly out, +their Boutet de Monvel hair and fringed <i>éponge</i> +costumes giving them the appearance of two luckless +pawns that had been pushed off the board in +some game of chess they did not understand.</p> + +<p>Amory thought it very foolish of Katie to take +on in this way. She might have known that her +advertisements had not been refused without good +reason. Amory had fully intended to explain all +about it to Katie, but she really had had so many +things to do. Nor ought it to have needed explaining. +Surely Katie could have seen for herself that +Dickie's Bookshop List, with its names of Finot +and Forel and Mill and the rest, was a distinction +and an embellishment to the paper, while her +own Filbertines and Protolaxatives were a positive +disfigurement. The proper place for these was, +not in the columns of the "Novum," but in the +"Please take One" box at the Eden's door.... +But if Katie intended to sulk and cry about it, +well, so much the worse.... (To jump forward<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +a little: Katie did elect to sulk. Or rather, she +did worse. She was so ill-advised as to go behind +Amory's back and to speak to Cosimo himself +about the advertisements. With that Katie's +goose—or perhaps one should say her Anserine—was +cooked. Amory did not allow that kind of +thing. She certainly did not intend to explain +anything after that. It was plain as a pikestaff that +Katie was jealous of Dickie. Amory was bitterly +disappointed in Katie. Of course she would not +forbid her the house; she was still free to come +to The Witan whenever she liked; but—somehow +Katie only came once more. She found herself +treated so very, very kindly.... So she gulped +down a sob, fondled the twins once more, and left).</p> + +<p>Miss Britomart Belchamber saw enough of the +twins not to wish to fondle them very much. Amory +was not yet absolutely sure that she fondled Cosimo +instead, but she was welcome to do so if she +could find any satisfaction in it. Cosimo fondled +the twins to a foolish extreme. Mr. Prang could +never get near enough to them to fondle them. +Both Corin and Bonniebell displayed a most powerful +interest in Mr. Prang, and would have stood +stock-still gazing at him for an hour had they been +permitted; but the moment he approached them +they fled bellowing.</p> + +<p>And in addition to these various fondlings there +were casual fondlings from time to time whenever +the more favoured of the "Novum's" contributors +were asked to tea.</p> + +<p>But the Wyrons remained, so to speak, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +<i>ex-officio</i> fondlers, and perhaps childless Laura +felt a real need to fondle at her heart. It was she +who first asked Amory whether she hadn't noticed +that, while Mr. Brimby and Dickie frequently +fondled the twins separately, more frequently +still they did so together.</p> + +<p>"No!" Amory exclaimed. "I hadn't noticed!"</p> + +<p>"Walter thinks they would be a perfect pair," +Laura mused....</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> + +<h2>II</h2> + +<h3>THE 'VERT</h3> + + +<p>Stan saw very little in the scheme that Dorothy +darkly meditated against her aunt. He seldom +saw much in Dorothy's schemes. Perhaps she did +not make quite enough fuss about them, but went +on so quietly maturing them that her income +seemed to be merely something that happened in +some not fully explained but quite natural order +of events. Stan thought it rather a lucky chance +that the money usually had come in when it was +wanted, that was all.</p> + +<p>But of his own job he had quite a different conception. +<i>That</i> took thought. This appeared plainly +now that he was able to dismiss his own past failures +with a light and almost derisive laugh.</p> + +<p>"I don't know whatever made me think there +was anything in them," he said complacently one +night within about ten days of Christmas. He +had put on his slippers and his pipe, and was drowsily +stretching himself after a particularly hard "comic +film" day, in the course of which he had been required +to fall through a number of ceilings, bringing the +furniture with him in his downward flight. He +had come home, had had a shampoo and a hot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +bath, and the last traces of the bags of flour and +the sacks of soot had disappeared. "I don't think +now they'd ever have come to very much."</p> + +<p>"Hush a moment," said Dorothy, listening, her +needle arrested half-way through the heel of one +of his socks.... "All right. I thought I heard +him—Yes?"</p> + +<p>She could face young girls now. The third Bit +had turned out to be yet another boy.</p> + +<p>"I mean," Stan burbled comfortably, "there +wouldn't have been the money in them I thought +there would. Now take those salmon-flies, Dot. +Of course I can tie 'em in a way. But what I +mean is, it's a limited market. Not like the +boot-trade, I mean, or soap, or films. Everybody +wears boots and sees films. There's more +scope, more demand. But everybody doesn't +carry a salmon-rod. Comparatively few people do. +And the same with big-game shooting. Or deerstalking. +Everybody can't afford 'em."</p> + +<p>"No, dear," said Dorothy, her eyes downcast.</p> + +<p>"Then there was Fortune and Brooks," Stan +continued with a great air of discovery. "<i>I</i> +see their game now. You see it too, don't you?—They +just wanted orders. New accounts. That's +what they wanted. If I could have put 'em on to +a chap who'd have spent say five hundred a year +on Chutney and things—well, what I mean is, +where would they be without customers like that?"</p> + +<p>"Nowhere, dear," said the dutiful Dorothy.</p> + +<p>"Exactly. Nowhere. That's what I was leading up to. +They wouldn't be anywhere. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +just wanted to be put on to these things. And it's +just struck me how <i>I</i> should have looked, going +out to dinner somewhere, strange house very likely, +and I'd said to somebody I'd perhaps met for +the first time, 'Don't think much of these salted +almonds; our hostess ought to try the F. and B. +Brand, a Hundred Gold Medals, and see that the +blessed coupon isn't broken.'—Eh? See what I +mean?"</p> + +<p>"I was never very keen on the idea," Dorothy +admitted gravely.</p> + +<p>"No, and I'm blessed if I see why I was, now," +Stan conceded cheerfully....</p> + +<p>She loved this change in him which a real job +with real money had brought about. Poor old +darling, she thought, it must have been pretty +rotten for him before, borrowing half-crowns from +her in the morning, which he would spend with an +affected indifference on drinks and cab fares in the +evening. And he <i>should</i> speak with a new authority +if he wished. Not for worlds would she have smiled +at His Impudence's new air of being master in his +own house. He <i>should</i> be a Sultan if he liked—provided +he didn't want more than one wife.</p> + +<p>Moreover, his bringing in of money had been a +relief so great that even yet she had hardly got +out of the habit of reckoning on her own earnings +only. It had taken her weeks to realize that now +the twopences came in just a little more quickly +than they went out, and that she could actually +afford herself the luxury of keeping Mr. Miller +waiting for his Idea, or even of not giving it to him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +at all. She really had no Idea to give him. She +was entirely wrapped up now in her plot against +Lady Tasker.</p> + +<p>That plot, summarized from several conversations +with Stan, was as follows:—</p> + +<p>"You see, there's the Brear, with all that land, +Aunt Grace's very own. The Cromwell Gardens +lease is up in June, and it's all very well for auntie +to say she doesn't hate London, but she does. +She spends half a rent, with one and another of +them, in travelling backwards and forwards, and +she's getting old, too.—Then there's us. We +can't go on living here, and the Tonys will be home +just as Tim's leave's up, and they're sure to leave +their Bits behind. Very well. Now the Tims and +the Tonys can't afford to pay much, but they can +afford something, and I think they ought to pay. +They're sure to want those boys to go into the +Army, and they'd <i>have</i> to pay for that anyway.—So +there ought to be a properly-managed Hostel +sort of place, paying its way, and a fund accumulating, +and Aunt Gracie at the head of it, poor old +dear, but somebody to do the work for her.—I don't +see why we shouldn't clear out that old billiard-table +that nobody ever uses, and throw that and the +gun-room into one, and make that the schoolroom, +and have a proper person down—a sort of private +preparatory school for Sandhurst and Woolwich, and +the money put by to help with the fees afterwards. +It would be much easier if we all clubbed together. +And I should jolly well make Aunt Eliza give us +at least a thousand pounds—selfish old thing."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Frightful rows there'd be," Stan usually commented, +thinking less of Dorothy's plan than of +his own last trick-tumble. "Like putting brothers +into the same regiment; always a mistake. And +we're all rather good at rows you know."</p> + +<p>"Well, they're our <i>own</i> rows anyway. We +keep 'em to ourselves. And we <i>do</i> all mean pretty +much the same thing when all's said. I'm going +to work it all out anyway, and then tackle Aunt +Grace.... <i>I</i> shall manage it, of course."</p> + +<p>She did not add that her Lennards and Taskers +and Woodgates would sink their private squabbles +precisely in proportion as the outside attacks on +their common belief rendered a closing-up of the +ranks necessary. But she <i>had</i> been to The Witan +and had kept her eyes open there, and knew that +there were plenty of other Witans about. If +stupid Parliament, with its votes and what not, +couldn't think of anything to do about it, that +was no reason why she should not do something, +and make stingy old Aunt Eliza pay for the training +of her Bits into the bargain.</p> + +<p>She had not seen Amory since that day when the +episode of the winter woollies had made her angry, +for, though Amory had called once at the Nursing +Home soon after the birth of the third Bit, Dorothy +had really not felt equal to the hair-raising tale +of the twins all over again, and had sent a message +down to her by the nurse. There was this difference +between this tragic recital of Amory's and the +fervour with which Ruth Mossop always hugged to +her breast the thought of the worst that could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +happen—that Ruth <i>had</i> known brutality, and +so might be forgiven for getting "a little of her +own back"; but Amory had known one hardish +twelvemonths perhaps, a good many years ago +and when she had been quite able to bear it, and +had since magnified that period of discomfort by +a good many diameters. Amory, Dorothy considered, +didn't really know she was born. She +was unfeignedly sorry for that. Whatever measure +of contempt was in her she kept for Cosimo.</p> + +<p>For she considered that Cosimo was at the bottom +of all the trouble. If Stan, at his most impecunious +and happy-go-lucky, could still stalk about the +house saying "Dot, I won't have this," or "Look +here, Dorothy, that has got to stop," it seemed +to her that Cosimo, with never a care on his mind +that was not his own manufacture, might several +times have prevented Amory from making rather +a fool of herself. But it seemed to Dorothy that +kind of man was springing up all over the place +nowadays. Mr. Brimby was another of them. +Dorothy had read one of Mr. Brimby's books—"<i>The +Source</i>," and hadn't liked it. She had +thought it terribly dismal. In it a pretty and +rich young widow, who might almost have been +Amory herself, went slumming, and spent a lot of +money in starting a sort of Model Pawn Shop, and +by and by there came a mysterious falling-off +in her income, and she went to see her lawyer about +it, and learned, of course, that her source of income +was that very slum in which she had stooped to +labour so angelically.... Dorothy didn't know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +very much about pawnshops, but then she didn't +believe that Mr. Brimby did either; and if her +interest in them ever should become really keen, +she didn't think she should go to Oxford for information +about them. And Mr. Brimby himself +seemed to feel this "crab," as Stan would have +called it, for after "<i>The Source</i>" he had written +a Preface for a book by a real and genuine tramp.... +And it had been Amory who had recommended +"<i>The Source</i>" to Dorothy. She had said that +it just showed, that with vision and thought and +heart and no previous experience ("no prejudice" +had been her exact words), there need be none of +these dreadful grimy establishments, with their +horrible underbred assistants who refused a poor +woman half a crown on her mattress and made a +joke about it, but airy and hygienic rooms instead, +with rounded corners so that the dust could be +swept away in two minutes (leaving a balance +of at least twenty-eight minutes in which the +sweeper might improve himself), and really courtly-mannered +attendants, full of half crowns and +pity and Oxford voice, who would give everybody +twice as much as they asked for and a tear into the +bargain.</p> + +<p>And Amory knew just as much about real pawnshops +as did Dorothy and Mr. Brimby.</p> + +<p>For the life of her Dorothy could not make out +what all these people were up to.</p> + +<p>And—though this was better now that Stan was +earning—the thought of the money that was being +squandered at The Witan had sometimes made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +her ready to cry. For at the Nursing Home she +had had one other visitor, and this visitor had +opened her eyes to the appalling rate at which +Cosimo's inheritance must be going. This visitor +had been Katie Deedes. Katie too, was an old +fellow-student of Dorothy's; it had not taken +Dorothy long to see that Katie was full of a grievance; +and then it had all come out. There had been some +sort of a row. It had been simply and solely because +Katie ran a Food Shop. Amory thought that +<i>infra dig</i>. And just because Katie had given +the children a few chestnuts Amory had practically +said so.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> shan't go there again," Katie had said, trying +on Dorothy's account to keep down her tears. +"<i>I</i> didn't marry a man with lots of money, and +turn him round my finger, and make him write +my <i>Life and Works</i>, and then snub my old +friends! And none of the people who go there +are really what she thinks they are. <i>She</i> +thinks they go to see <i>her</i>, but Mr. Brimby only +goes because Dickie does, and because he wants +to sell the 'Novum' something or other, and +Mr. Strong of course has to go, and Mr. Wilkinson +goes because he wants Cosimo to stop the 'Novum' +and start something else with him as editor, and Laura +goes because they get things printed about Walter's +Lectures, and I don't know what those Indians are +doing there at all, and anyway <i>I've</i> been for the +last time! I'm just as good as she is, and I should +like to come and see you instead, Dorothy, and of +course I won't bring your babies chestnuts if you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +don't want.... But I'm frightfully selfish; +I'm tiring you out.... May an A B C girl come +to see you?"</p> + +<p>And Katie had since been. There is no social +reason why the manager of a Vegetarian Restaurant +may not visit the house of a film acrobat.</p> + +<p>As it happened, Katie came in that very night +when the weary breadwinner was painstakingly +explaining to his thoughtful spouse his reasons for +doubting whether he would ever have got very rich +had he remained one of Fortune and Brooks' well-dressed +drummers. Katie had a round face and +puzzled but affectionate eyes, and Stan was just +beginning to school his own eyes not to rest with +too open an interest on her Greenaway frocks and +pancake hats. Katie for her part was intensely +self-conscious in Stan's presence. She felt that +when he wasn't looking at her clothes he was, +expressly, <i>not</i>-looking at them, and that was +worse.... But she couldn't have worn a hobble +skirt and an aigrette at the "Eden."... Stan +had told Dorothy that when he knew Katie better +he intended to get out of her the remaining gruesome +and Blue-Beard's-Chamber details which +the hoof and the forequarter seemed to him to +promise.</p> + +<p>"Poor little darlings!" Dorothy exclaimed +compassionately by and by—Katie had been +relating some anecdote in which Corin and Bonniebell +had played a part. "I <i>do</i> think it's wrong +to dress children ridiculously! The other day <i>I</i> +saw a little girl—she must have been quite six or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +seven—and <i>she'd</i> knickers like a little boy, and +long golden hair all down her back! What <i>is</i> +the good of pretending that girls are boys?"</p> + +<p>"Awful rot," Stan remarked with a mighty +stretch. "I say, I'm off to bed; I shall be yawning +in Miss Deedes' face if I don't. Is there any arnica +in the house, Dot?... Good night——"</p> + +<p>"Good night," said Katie; and as the door +closed behind the master of the house she settled +more comfortably in her chair. "Now that he's +stopped not-looking at me we can have a good talk," +her gesture seemed to say; "how <i>does</i> he expect +I can get any other clothes till I've saved the +money?"...</p> + +<p>They did talk. They talked of the old days at +the McGrath, and who'd married who, and who +hadn't married who after all, and, in this connection, +of Laura Beamish and Walter Wyron, whom they +had both known.... And it just showed how +little glory and fame were really worth in the world. +For Dorothy, who had been living in London all +this time, had not heard as much as a whisper of +that memorable revolt of the Wyrons against the +Marriage Service, and, though she did know vaguely +that Walter lectured, had not the ghost of an idea +of what his lectures were about. She had been too +busy minding her own petty and private and selfish +affairs. Katie couldn't believe it. She thought +Dorothy was joking.</p> + +<p>"You've never heard of Walter's Lecture on +'<i>Heads or Tails in the Trying Time</i>,' nor his +'<i>Address on the Chromosome</i>'?" she gasped....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No; do tell me. What is a Chromosome?"</p> + +<p>"A Chromosome? Why, it's a—it's a—well, +you know when you've a cell—or a nucleus—or a +gland or something—but it isn't a gland—it's the—but +you <i>do</i> astonish me, Dorothy!"</p> + +<p>"But surely you're joking about Walter and +Laura?" Dorothy exclaimed in her turn.</p> + +<p>"Indeed I'm not! Why, I thought <i>every</i>body +knew!..."</p> + +<p>"(It's all right—he won't come in again). But +<i>why</i> did they pretend not to be married?" Dorothy +asked in amazement.</p> + +<p>"I don't know—I mean I forget for the moment—it +seemed perfectly clear the way Walter explained +it—you ought to go and hear him——"</p> + +<p>"But what difference could being married—I +mean not being married—make?"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Katie, with satisfaction at having +found her bearings again. "Walter's got a whole +Lecture on that. It always thrills everybody. +Amory thinks it's almost his best—after the '<i>Synthetic +Protoplasm</i>' one, of course—that's admitted +by everybody to be quite <i>the</i> best!"<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p><p>"Proto ... but I thought those were a kind +of oats!" said poor Dorothy, utterly bewildered.</p> + +<p>"Oats!" cried Katie in a sort of whispered +shriek. "Why, it's—it's—but I don't know even +how to <i>begin</i> to explain it! Do you mean to say +you haven't read about these things?"</p> + +<p>"No," murmured Dorothy, abashed.</p> + +<p>"Not Monod, nor Ellen Key, nor Sebastien +Faure, nor Malom!——"</p> + +<p>"N-o." Dorothy felt horribly ashamed of herself.</p> + +<p>"But—but—those <i>lovely</i> little boys of yours!——"</p> + +<p>She gazed wide-eyed at the disconcerted Dorothy....</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It was the humiliating truth: Dorothy had +never heard of the existence of a single one of these +writers and leaders of thought. She had borne +Noel in black ignorance of what they had had to say +about the Torch of the Race, and Jackie and the +third Bit for all the world as if they had never set +pen to paper. Monod had not held her hand, nor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +Faure been asked for his imprimatur; Key had +hymned Love superfluously, and the Synthesists, +equally superfluously, its supersession. For a +moment she anxiously hoped that it was all right, +and then, as Katie went on, the marvel of it all +overwhelmed her again.</p> + +<p>The dictum that desirable children could be born +only <i>out</i> of wedlock! That stupendous suggestion +of Walter's to millionaires who did not know what +to do with their money, that, for the improvement of +the Race, they should endow with a thousand pounds +every poor little come-by-chance that weighed +eleven pounds at birth! That other proposal, +that twenty years could straightway be added to +woman's life and beauty by a mere influencing of +her thoughts about the Chromosome—whatever +it was!... Poor uncultured Dorothy did not +know whether she was on her head or her heels. +She had never dreamed, until Katie told her, that +before marrying Stan she ought to have gone to the +insect-world, or to the world of molluscs and crustacæ, +to learn how <i>they</i> maintained the integrity of their +own highest type—whether by pulling their wings +off after the flight, or devouring their husbands, or—or—or +what! She had heard of the moral lessons +that can be learned of the ant, but it had not struck +her that she and Stan might, by means of a little +more study and care, have lifted up the economy of +their little flat to the level of the marvellously-organized +domesticity you see when you kick over +a stone.</p> + +<p>But Katie's hesitations and great gaps of confessed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +ignorance gave her a little more courage. Katie was +at pains to explain that all that she herself knew +about it all was that these things were what they +<i>said</i>, and Dorothy must go to Walter and the books +for the rest.</p> + +<p>"They're all very expensive books, and I may +not really have understood them," she said wistfully. +"They must be awfully deep and so on if they're +so dear—twelve and fifteen and twenty shillings! +But I did try so hard, and sometimes it seemed +quite reasonable and plain, especially when the +print was nice and big.... Close print always +seems so frightfully learned.... And I know +I've explained it badly; I haven't Walter's gift +of putting things. Amory has, of course. When +she and Walter have a really good set-to it makes one +feel positively <i>abject</i> about one's ignorance. I doubt +if Cosimo can always <i>quite</i> follow them, and I'm +quite sure Mr. Strong can't—I know he's only +hedging when he says, 'Ah, yes, have you read +Fabre on the Ant or Maeterlinck on the Bee?'—and +I believe he just glances at the review books +that come to the 'Novum' instead of really studying +them, as Walter and Amory do. And it's very +funny about Mr. Strong," she rattled artlessly on. +"Sometimes I've thought that it isn't just that +Amory doesn't know what they all go to The Witan +for, but that everybody else <i>does</i> know. They all +seem to want it to themselves. Of course if Mr. +Wilkinson wants Cosimo to stop the 'Novum,' and +to start something else for him, it's only natural +that he and Mr. Strong should be a little jealous of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +one another; but Dickie and Mr. Brimby are jealous +of the Wyrons, and I suppose I was jealous of Dickie +too—and everybody seems jealous of everybody, +and Amory of Cosimo, and Amory's always interfering +between Britomart Belchamber and the +twins' lessons, and that <i>can't</i> be a very good thing +for discipline, but Britomart's like me in being rather +stupid, and I wish I'd her screw—she gets nearly +twice as much as I do. The only people who don't +seem jealous of anybody are those Indians. They're +<i>always</i> affable. I suppose it's rather nice for them, +so far from their own country, having a house to go +to...."</p> + +<p>But here Dorothy's humility and self-distrust +ended. The moment it came to India, she shared +her aunt's deplorable narrow-mindedness and propensity +to make a virtue of her intolerance. It +seemed to her that it was one thing for the Tims and +Tonys, in India, to have to employ a native interpreter +(and to be pretty severely rooked by him) +when they had their Urdu Higher Proficiency to +pass, but quite another for these same natives to +come over here, and to learn our law and language, +and our excellent national professions, and our +somewhat mitigated ways of living up to them. +No, she was not one whit better than her hide-bound +old aunt, and she did not intend to have too practical +a brotherly love taught at that meditated foundation +at the Brear....</p> + +<p>She became silent as she thought of that foundation +again, and presently Katie rose.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I couldn't see him in his cot?" she +said wistfully.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> + +<p>Dorothy smiled. Katie meant the youngest Bit.</p> + +<p>"Well ... I'm afraid he's in <i>our</i> room, you +see ...," she said.</p> + +<p>Katie had been thinking of The Witan. She +coloured a little.</p> + +<p>"Sorry," she murmured; and then she broke +out emphatically.</p> + +<p>"I <i>like</i> coming to see you, Dorothy. I don't +feel so—such a <i>fool</i> when I'm with you.... And +do tell me where you got that frock, and how much +it was; I <i>must</i> have another one as soon as I +can raise the money! I do wish I could make +what Britomart Belchamber makes! Two-twenty +a year! Think of that!... But of course Prince +Eadmond teachers do come expensive——"</p> + +<p>More and more it was coming to seem to Dorothy +that the whole thing was terrifically expensive.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> + +<h2>III</h2> + +<h3>THE IMPERIALISTS</h3> + + +<p>They were great believers in the Empire, they +on the "Novum." Indeed, they were the +only true Imperialists, since they recognized that +ideas, and not actions, were by far and away the most +potent instruments in the betterment of mankind. +Everybody who was anybody knew that, a mere +sporadic outbreak here and there (such as the one in +Manchuria) notwithstanding, war had been virtually +impossible ever since the publication of M. Bloch's +book declaring it to be so. What, they asked, was +war, more than an unfortunate miscalculation on the +part of the lamb that happened to lie down with +the lion? And what made the miscalculation so +unfortunate? Why, surely the possession by the +lion of teeth and claws. Draw his teeth and cut his +claws, and the two would slumber peacefully together. +So with the British lion. He only fought because +he had things ready to fight with. Philosophically, +his aggressions were not much more than a kind +of sportive manifestation of the joy of life, that +happened, rather inconsequentially, to take the form +of the joy of death. Take away the ships and +guns, then, and everything would be all right.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> + +<p>These views on the Real Empire were in no way +incompatible with Mr. Wilkinson's desire to see all +Trade Unionists armed. For a war at home, about +shorter hours and higher wages, would at any rate +be a war between equals in race. It was wars +between unequals that had made of the Old Empire +so hideous a thing. Amory herself had more than +once stated this rather well.</p> + +<p>"I call it cowardice," she had said. "Every +fine instinct in us tells us to stick up for the weaker +side. It makes my blood boil! Think of those +gentle and dusky millions, all being, to put it in a +word, bullied—just bullied! We all know the kind +of man who goes abroad—the conventional 'adventurer' +(I like 'adventurer!') He's just a common +bully. He drinks disgustingly, and swears, and kicks +people who don't get out of his way—but he's always +careful to have a revolver in his pocket for fear they +should hit him back!... And he makes a +tremendous fuss about his white women, but when +it comes to their black or brown ones ... well, +anyway, <i>I</i> think he's a brute, and we want a better +class of man than <i>that</i> for our readers!"</p> + +<p>And that was briefly why, at the "Novum," they +tried to reduce armaments at home, and gave at +least moral encouragement to the other side whenever +there was a dust-up abroad.</p> + +<p>But it had been some time ago that Amory had +said all this, and her attitude since then had undergone +certain changes. One of these changes had +been her acquisition of the Romantic Point of View; +another had been that suspended state of affairs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +between herself and Mr. Strong. The first of these +curtailed a good deal of the philosophy in which +Mr. Strong always seemed anxious to enwrap the +subject (in order, as far as Amory could see, to +avoid action). It also made a little more of the +position of women, white, black or brown, and +especially when rolled up in carpets, in Imperial +affairs. And the second, that hung-up relation +between Edgar Strong and herself, had left her +constantly wondering what would have happened +had she taken Mr. Strong at his word and fled to +Paris with him, and exactly where they stood since +she had not done so.</p> + +<p>For naturally, things could hardly have been +expected to be the same after that. Since Edgar +had ceased to come quite so frequently to The Witan, +Amory had thought the whole situation carefully +over and had come to her conclusion. Perhaps the +histories of <i>les grandes maitresses</i> and the writings of +Key had helped her; or, more likely, Key in Sweden +(or wherever it was) and herself in England had +arrived at the same conclusion by independent paths. +That conclusion, stated in three words, was the +Genius of Love.</p> + +<p>It was perfectly simple. Why had Amory +Towers, the painter of that picture ("Barrage") so +enthusiastically acclaimed by the whole of Feminist +England, now for so long ceased to paint? What +had become of the Genius that had brought that +picture into being? It is certain that Genius cannot +be stifled. Deny it one opportunity and it will +break out somewhere else—in another art, in politics,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +in leadership in one form or another, or it may be +even in crime.</p> + +<p>Even so, Amory was conscious, her own Genius +had refused to be suppressed. It had found another +outlet in politics, directed in a recumbent attitude +from a sofa.</p> + +<p>Yet that had landed her straightway in a dilemma—the +dilemma of Edgar and the twins, of Paris on +seven francs a day and the comforts Cosimo +allowed her, of a deed that was to have put even +that of the Wyrons into the shade and a mere +settling down to the prospect of seeing Edgar when +it pleased him to put in an appearance.</p> + +<p>She had not seen this protean property of Genius +just at first. That could only have been because +she had not examined herself sufficiently. She had +been introspective, but not introspective enough.</p> + +<p>And lest she should be mistaken in the mighty +changes that were going on within herself, at first +she had tried the painting again. Her tubes were +dry and her brushes hard, but she had got new ones, +and one after another she had taken up her old +half-finished canvases again. A single glance at +them had filled her with astonishment at the leagues +of progress, mental and emotional, that she had made +since then. She had laughed almost insultingly at +those former attempts. That large canvas on the +"<i>Triumph of Humane Government</i>" was positively +frigid! And Edgar had liked it!... Well, that only +showed what a power she now had over Edgar if she +only cared to use it. If he had liked that chilly piece +of classicism, he would stand dumb before the canvas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +that every faculty in her was now straining to paint. +She began to think that canvas out....</p> + +<p>It must be Eastern, of course; nay, it must be +The East—tremendously voluptuous and so on. +She would paint it over the "<i>Triumph</i>." It should +be bathed in a sunrise, rabidly yellow (they had no +time for decaying mellowness in those vast and +kindling lands to which Amory's inner eye was +turned)—and of course there ought to be a many-breasted +what-was-her-name in it, the goddess +(rather rank, perhaps, but that was the idea, a +smack at effete occidental politeness). And there +ought to be a two-breasted figure as well, perhaps +with a cord or something in her hand, hauling up the +curtain of night, or at any rate showing in some way +or other that her superb beauty was actually responsible +for the yellow sunrise....</p> + +<p>And above all, she must get <i>herself</i> into it—the +whole of herself—all that tremendous continent that +Cosimo had not had, that her children had not had, +that her former painting had left unexpressed, that +politics had not brought out of her....</p> + +<p>The result of that experiment was remarkable. +Two days later she had thrown the painting aside +again. It was a ghastly failure. But only for a +moment did that depress her; the next moment she +had seen further. She was a Genius; she knew it—felt +it; she was so sure about it that she would +never have dreamed of arguing about it; she had +such thoughts sometimes.... And Genius could +never be suppressed. Very well; the Eastern +canvas was a total failure; she admitted it. Ergo,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +her Genius was for something else than painting.</p> + +<p>That was all she had wanted to know.</p> + +<p>For what, then? No doubt Edgar Strong, who +had enlightened her about herself before, would be +able to enlighten her again now. And if he would +not come to see her, she must go and see him. But +already she saw the answer shining brightly ahead. +She must pant, not paint; live, not limn. Her +Genius was, after all, for Love.</p> + +<p>True, at the thought of those offices in Charing +Cross Road she had an instinctive shrinking. Their +shabbiness rather took the shine out of the voluptuousnesses +she had tried, and failed, to get upon her +canvas. But perhaps there was a fitness in that +too. Genius, whether in Art or in Love, is usually +poor. If she could be splendid there she could be so +anywhere. No doubt heaps and heaps of grand +passions had transfigured grimy garrets, and had +made of them perfectly ripping backgrounds....</p> + +<p>So on an afternoon in mid-January Amory put +on her new velvet costume of glaucous sea-holly blue +and her new mushroom-white hat, and went down +to the "Novum's" offices in a taxi. It seemed to her +that she got there horribly quickly. Her heart was +beating rapidly, and already she had partly persuaded +herself that if Edgar wasn't in it might perhaps be +just as well, as she had half-promised the twins to +have tea with them in the nursery soon, and anyway +she could come again next week. Or she might +leave Edgar a note to come up to The Witan. There +were familiar and supporting influences at The Witan. +But here she felt dreadfully defenceless.... She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +reached her destination. Slowly she passed through +the basement-room with the sandwich-boards, +ascended the dark stairs, and walked along the upper +corridor that was hung with the specimens of poster-art.</p> + +<p>Edgar was in. He was sitting at his roll-top desk, +with his feet thrust into the unimaginable litter of +papers that covered it. He appeared to be dozing +over the "Times," and had not drunk the cup of +tea that stood at his elbow with a sodden biscuit and +a couple of lumps of sugar awash in the saucer.—Without +turning his head he said "Hallo," almost +as if he expected somebody else. "Did you bring +me some cigarettes in?" he added, still not turning. +And this was a relief to Amory's thumping heart. +She could begin with a little joke.</p> + +<p>"No," she said. "I didn't know you wanted +any."</p> + +<p>There was no counterfeit about the start Mr. Strong +gave. So swiftly did he pluck his feet away from the +desk that twenty sheets of paper planed down to +the floor, bringing the cup of tea with them in their +fall.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Strong paid no attention to the breakage +and mess. He was on his feet, looking at Amory. +He looked, but he had never a word to say. And +she stood looking at him—charming in her +glaucous blue, the glint of rich red that peeped from +under the new white hat, and her slightly frightened +smile.</p> + +<p>"Haven't you any?" she said archly.</p> + +<p>At that Mr. Strong found his tongue.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Excuse me just a moment," he muttered, striding +past her and picking up something from his desk as +he went. "Sit down, won't you?" Then he opened +the door by which Amory had entered, did something +behind it, and returned, closing the door again. +"Only so that we shan't be disturbed," he said. +"They go into the other office when they see the +notice.—I wasn't expecting you."</p> + +<p>Nor did he, Amory thought, show any great joy +at her appearance. On the contrary, he had fixed a +look very like a glare on her. Then he walked to +the hearth. A big fire burned there behind a wire +guard, and within the iron kerb stood the kettle he +had boiled to make tea. He put his elbows on the +mantelpiece and turned his back to her. Again it +was Mr. Brimby's sorrowing Oxford attitude. Amory +had moved towards his swivel chair and had sat +down. Her heart beat a little agitatedly. He +remembered!...</p> + +<p>He spoke without any beating about the bush.—"Ought +you to have done this?" he said over his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>She fiddled with her gloves.—"To have done +what?" she asked nervously.</p> + +<p>"To have come here," came in muffled tones back. +It was evident that he was having to hold himself in.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly he wheeled round. This time +there was no doubt about it—it was a glare, and a +resolute one.</p> + +<p>But he had not been able to think of any new line. +It was the one he had used before. He made it a +little more menacing, that was all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm only flesh and blood—," he said quickly, +his hands ever so slightly clenching and unclenching +and his throat apparently swallowing something.</p> + +<p>Her heart was beating quickly enough now.—"But—but—," +she stammered,—"if you only +mean my coming here—I've been here lots of times +before——"</p> + +<p>He wasted few words on that.</p> + +<p>"Not since——," he rapped out. He was surveying +her sternly now.</p> + +<p>"But—but—," she faltered again, "—it's only +me, Edgar—I <i>am</i> connected with the paper, you +know—that is to say my husband is——"</p> + +<p>"That's true," he groaned.</p> + +<p>"And—and—I should have come before—I've +been intending to come—but I've been so busy——"</p> + +<p>But that also he brushed aside for the little it was +worth. "<i>Must</i> you compromise yourself like this?" +he demanded. "Don't you see? I'm not made of +wood, and I suppose your eyes are open too. Prang +may be here at any moment. He'll see that notice +on the door, and wait ... and then he'll see you go +out. You oughtn't to have come," he continued +gloomily. "Why did you, Amory?"</p> + +<p>Once more she quailed before the blue mica of his +eye. Her words came now a bit at a time. The +victory was his.</p> + +<p>"Only to—to see—how the paper was going on—and +to—to talk things over—," she said.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" He nodded. "Very well."</p> + +<p>He strode forward from the mantelpiece and +approached the desk at which she sat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I suppose Cosimo wants to know; very well. +As a matter of fact I'm rather glad you've come. +Look here——"</p> + +<p>He grabbed a newspaper from the desk and thrust +it almost roughly into her hands.</p> + +<p>"Read that," he said, stabbing the paper with his +finger.</p> + +<p>The part in which he stabbed it was so unbrokenly +set that it must have struck Katie Deedes as overwhelmingly +learned.—"There you are—read that!" +he ordered her.</p> + +<p>Then, striding back to the mantelpiece, he stood +watching her as if he had paid for a seat in a playhouse +and had found standing-room only.</p> + +<p>Amory supposed that it must be something in that +close and grey-looking oblong that was at the bottom +of his imperious curtness. She was sure of this +when, before she had read half a dozen lines, he cut +in with a sharp "Well? I suppose you see what +it means to us?"</p> + +<p>"Just a moment," she said bewilderedly; "you +always did read quicker than I can——"</p> + +<p>"Quicker!—" he said. "Just run your eye +down it. That ought to tell you."</p> + +<p>She did so, and a few capitals caught her eye.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean this about the North-West +Banks?" she asked diffidently.</p> + +<p>"Do I mean——! Well, yes. Rather."</p> + +<p>"I do wish you'd explain it to me. It seems +rather hard."</p> + +<p>But he did not approach and point out particular +passages. Instead he seemed to know that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +leaden oblong by heart. He gave a short laugh.</p> + +<p>"Hard? It's hard enough on the depositors +out there!... They've been withdrawing again, +and of course the Banks have had to realize."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I saw that bit," said Amory.</p> + +<p>"A forced realization," Mr. Strong continued. +"Depreciation in values, of course. And it's spreading."</p> + +<p>It sounded to Amory rather like smallpox, but, +"I suppose that's the Monsoon?" she hazarded.</p> + +<p>"Partly, of course. Not altogether. There's +the rupee too, of course. At present that's at +about one and twopence, but then there are these +bi-metallists.... So until we know what's going +to happen, it seems to me we're bound hand and +foot."</p> + +<p>Amory was awed.—"What—what do you +think will happen?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Edgar gave a shrug.—"Well—when a Bank begins +paying out in pennies it's as well to prepare for +the worst, you know."</p> + +<p>"Are—are they doing that?" Amory asked in a +whisper. "Really? And is that the bi-metallists' +doing—or is it the Home Government? Do explain +it to me so that I can visualize it. You know I +always understand things better when I can visualize +them. That's because I'm an artist.—Does it +mean that there are long strings of natives, with +baskets and things on their heads to put the pennies +in, all waiting at the Banks, like people in the theatre-queues?"</p> + +<p>"I dare say. I suppose they have to carry the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +pennies somehow. But I'm afraid I can't tell +you more than's in the papers."</p> + +<p>Amory's face assumed an expression of contempt. +On the papers she was quite pat.</p> + +<p>"The papers! And how much of the truth can +we get from the capitalist press, I should like to +know! Why, it's a commonplace among us—one is +almost ashamed to say it again—that the 'Times' +is always wrong! We have <i>no</i> Imperialist papers +really; only Jingo ones. Is there <i>no</i> way of finding +out what this—crisis—is really about?"</p> + +<p>This was quite an easy one for Mr. Strong. Many +times in the past, when pressed thus by his proprietor's +wife for small, but exact, details, he had +wished that he had known even as much about +them as seemed to be known by that smart young +man who had once come to The Witan in a morning +coat and had told Edgar Strong that he didn't +know what he was talking about. But he had long +since found a way out of these trifling difficulties. +Lift the issue high enough, and it is true of most +things that one man's opinion is as good as another's; +and they lifted issues quite toweringly high on the +"Novum." Therefore in self-defence Mr. Strong +flapped (so to speak) his wings, gave a struggle, +cleared the earth, and was away in the empyrean +of the New Imperialism.</p> + +<p>"The 'Times' always wrong. Yes. We've got +to stick firmly to that," he said. "But don't you +see, that very fact makes it in its way quite a useful +guide. It's the next best thing to being always +right, like us; we can depend on its being wrong.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +We've only got to contradict it, and then ask ourselves +why we do so. There's usually a reason.... +So there is in this—er—crisis. Of course +you know their argument—that a lot of these young +native doctors and lawyers come over here, and +stop long enough to pick up the latest wrinkles +in swindling—the civilized improvements so to +speak—and then go back and start these wildcat +schemes, Banks and so on, and there's a smash. +I think that's a fair statement of their case.—But +what's ours? Why, simply that what they're +really doing is to give the Home Government a +perfectly beautiful opportunity of living up to its +own humane professions.... But we know what +that means," he added sadly.</p> + +<p>"You mean that it just shows," said Amory +eagerly, "that we aren't humane at all really? +In fact, that England's a humbug?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Strong smiled. He too, in a sense, was +paying out in pennies, and so far quite satisfactorily.</p> + +<p>"Well ... take this very crisis," he returned. +"Oughtn't there to be a grant, without a moment's +loss of time, from the Imperial Exchequer? I'm +speaking from quite the lowest point of view—the +mere point of view of expediency if you like. +Very well. Suppose one or two natives <i>are</i> scoundrels: +what about it? Are matters any better +because we know that? Don't the poverty and +distress exist just the same? And isn't that precisely +our opportunity, if only we had a statesman +capable of seeing it?... Look here: We've<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +only got to go to them and say, 'We are full of pity +and help; here are a lot of—er—lakhs; lakhs +of rupees; rupee one and twopence: you may +have been foolish, but it isn't for us to cast the first +stone; it's the conditions that are wrong; go +and get something to eat, and don't forget your +real friends by and by.'—Isn't that just the way +to bind them to us? By their gratitude, eh? Isn't +getting their gratitude better than blowing them +from the muzzles of guns, eh? And isn't that the +real Empire, of which we all dream? Eh?..."</p> + +<p>He warmed up to it, while keeping one ear open +for anybody who might come along the passage; +and when he found himself running down he grabbed +the newspaper again. He doubled it back, refolded +it, and again thrust it under Amory's nose.... +There! That put it all in a nutshell, he said! +The figures spoke for themselves. The Home +Government, he said, knew all about it all the time, +but of course they came from that hopeless slough +of ineptitude that humorists were pleased to +call the "governing classes," and that was why +they dragged such red herrings across the path of +true progress as—well, as the Suffrage, say.... +What! Hadn't Amory heard that all this agitation +for the Suffrage was secretly fomented by the +Government itself? Oh, come, she must know +that! Why, of course it was! The Government +knew dashed well what they were doing, too! It +was a moral certainty that there was somebody +behind the scenes actually planning half these +outrages! Why? Why, simply because it got<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +'em popular sympathy when a Minister had his +windows smashed or a paper of pepper thrown in +his face. They were only too glad to have pepper +thrown in their faces, because everybody said what +a shame it was, and forgot all about what fools +they'd been making of themselves, and when a +real—er—crisis came, like this one, people scarcely +noticed it.... But potty little intellects like +Brimby's and Wilkinson's didn't see as deep as +that. It was only Edgar Strong and Amory who +saw as deep as that. That was why they, Edgar +and Amory, were where they were—leaders of +thought, not subordinates....</p> + +<p>"Just look rather carefully at those figures," +he concluded....</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, lofty as these flights were, they +had a little lost their thrill for Amory. She had +heard them so very, very often. She had trembled +in the taxi in vain if <i>this</i> was all that her stealthy +coming to the "Novum's" offices meant. Nor +had she put on her new sea-holly velvet to be told, +however eloquently, that Wilkinson and Brimby +were minor lights when compared with Edgar and +herself, and that the "Times" was always wrong. +Perhaps the figures that Edgar had thrust under +her nose as if he had been clapping a muzzle on +her meant something to the right person, but they +meant nothing to Amory, and she didn't pretend +they did. They were man's business; woman's +was "visualizing." The two businesses, when you +came to think of it, <i>were</i> separate and distinct. +Whoever heard of a man wrapping himself up in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +a carpet and being carried by Nubians into his +mistress's presence? Whoever heard of a man's +face launching as much as an up-river punt, let +alone fleets and fleets of full-sized ships? And +whoever heard of the compelling beauty of a man's +eyes, as he lay on a sofa with one satiny upper-arm +upraised, simply making—making—a woman +come and kiss him?... It was ridiculous. +Amory saw now. Even Joan of Arc must have +put on her armour, not so much because of all the +chopping and banging of maces and things (which +must have been very noisy), but more with the +idea of <i>inspiring</i>.... Yes, inspiring: that was +it. There <i>was</i> a difference. Why, even physically +women and men were not the same, and mentally +they were just as different. For example, Amory +herself wouldn't have liked to blow anybody from +the mouth of a gun, but she wasn't sure sometimes +that Edgar wouldn't positively enjoy it. He had +that hard eye, and square head, and capacity for +figures....</p> + +<p>She wasn't sure that her heart didn't go out to +him all the more because of that puzzle of noughts +and dots and rupees he had thrust into her +hands....</p> + +<p>And so, as he continued (so to speak) to gain +time by paying in pennies, and to keep an ear disengaged +for the passage, it came about that Edgar +Strong actually overshot himself. The more technical +and masculine he became, the more Amory +felt that it was fitting and feminine in her not to +bother with these things at all, but just to go on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +inspiring. She still kept her eyes bent over the +column of figures, but she was visualizing again. +She was visualizing the Channel steamer, and the +Latin Quarter, and satiny upper-arms. And the +taxi-tremor had returned....</p> + +<p>Suddenly she looked softly yet daringly up. +She felt that she must be Indian—yet not too +Indian.</p> + +<p>"And then there's suttee," she said in a low +voice.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" said Strong. He seemed to scent +danger. "Abolished," he said shortly.</p> + +<p>But here Amory was actually able to tell Edgar +Strong something. She happened to have been +reading about suttee in a feminist paper only a +day or two before. No doubt Edgar read nothing +but figures and grey oblongs.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," she said softly but with a knowledge +of her ground. "That is, I know it's prohibited, +but there was a case only a little while ago. I +read it in the 'Vaward.' And it was awful, but +splendid, too. She was a young widow, and I'm +sure she had a lovely face, because she'd such +a noble soul.—Don't you think they often go +together?"</p> + +<p>But Edgar did not reply. He had walked to a +little shelf full of reference books and books for +review, and was turning over pages.</p> + +<p>"And the whole village was there," Amory +continued, "and she walked to the pyre herself, +and said good-bye to all her relatives, and then——"</p> + +<p>Edgar shut his book with a slap.—"Abolished<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +in 1829," he said. "It's a criminal offence under +the Code."</p> + +<p>Amory smiled tenderly. Abolished!... Dear, +fellow, to think that in such matters he should +imagine that his offences and Codes could make +any difference! Of course the "Vaward" had +made a mere Suffrage argument out of the thing, +but to Amory it had just showed how cruel and +magnificent and voluptuous and grim the East +could be when it really tried.... And then all +at once Amory thought, not of any particular poem +she had ever read, but what a ripping thing it would +be to be able to write poetry, and to say all those +things that would have been rather silly in prose, +and to put heaps of gorgeous images in, like the +many-breasted what-was-her-name, and Thingummy—what-did-they-call-him—the +god with all +those arms. And there would be carpets and things +too, and limbs, not plaster ones, but flesh and +blood ones, as Edgar said his own were, and—and—and +oh, stacks of material! The rhymes +might be a bit hard, of course, and perhaps after +all it might be better to leave poetry to somebody +else, and to concentrate all her energies on inspiring, +as Beatrice inspired Dante, and Laura Petrarch, +and that other woman Camoens, and Jenny Rossetti, +and Vittoria Colonna Michael Angelo. She +might even inspire Edgar to write poetry. And +she would be careful to keep the verses out of +Cosimo's way....</p> + +<p>"Abolished!" she smiled in gay yet mournful +mockery, and also with a touch both of reproach<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +and of disdain in her look.... "Oh well, I suppose +men think so...."</p> + +<p>But at this he rounded just as suddenly on her +as he had done when he had told her that she ought +not to have come to the office. Perhaps he felt +that he was losing ground again. You may be +sure that Edgar Strong, actor, had never had to +work as hard for his money as he had to work that +afternoon.</p> + +<p>"Amory!" he called imperiously. "I tell +you it won't do—not at this juncture! I'd just +begun to find a kind of drug in my work; I've +locked myself up here; and now you come and +undo it all again with a look! I see we must have +this out. Let me think."</p> + +<p>He began to pace the floor.</p> + +<p>When he did speak again, his phrases came in +detached jerks. He kept looking sharply up and +then digging his chin into his red tie again.</p> + +<p>"It was different before," he said. "It might +have been all right before. We were free then—in +a way. It was different in every way.... +(Mind your dress in that tea).... But we can't +do anything now. Not at present. There's this +crisis. That's suddenly sprung upon us. There's +got to be somebody at the wheel—the 'Novum's' +wheel, I mean. I hate talking about my duty, +but you've read the 'Times' there. The 'Times' +is always wrong, and if we desert our posts the +whole game's up—U.P. Prang's no good here. +Prang can't be trusted at a pinch. And Wilkinson's +no better. Neither of 'em any good in an emergency.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +Weak man at bottom, Wilkinson—the +weakness of violence—effeminate, like these strong-word +poets. We can't rely on Wilkinson and +Prang. And who is there left? Eh?"</p> + +<p>But he did not wait for an answer.</p> + +<p>"Starving thousands, and no Imperial Grant." +His voice grew passionate. "Imperial Grant must +be pressed for without delay. What's to happen to +the Real Empire if you and I put our private joys +first? Eh? Answer me.... There they are, +paying in pennies—and us dallying here.... +No. Dash it all, no. May be good enough +for some of these tame males, but it's a bit below +a man. I won't—not now. Not at present. +It would be selfish. They've trusted me, and——," a +shrug. "No. That's flat. I see <i>my</i> +nights being spent over figures and telegrams and +all that sort of thing for some time to come.... +Don't think I've forgotten. I understand perfectly. +I suppose that sooner or later it <i>will</i> have +to be the Continent and so on—but not until this +job's settled. Not till then. Everything else—everything—has +got to stand down. You do see, +don't you, Amory? I hope you do."</p> + +<p>As he had talked there had come over Amory a +sense of what his love must be if nothing but his +relentless sense of duty could frustrate it even for +a day. And that was more thrilling than all the +rest put together. It lifted their whole relation +exactly where she had tried to put it without +knowing how to put it there—into the regions of +the heroic. Not that Edgar put on any frills about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +it. On the contrary. He was simple and plain +and straight. And how perfectly right he was! +Naturally, since the "Times" and its servile following +of the capitalist Press would not help, Edgar +had to all intents and purposes the whole of India +to carry on his shoulders. It was exactly like +that jolly thing of Lovelace's, about somebody not +loving somebody so much if he didn't love Honour +more. He did love her so much, and he had as +much as said that there would be plenty of time to +talk about the Continent later. Besides, his dear, +rough, unaffected way of calling this heroic work +his "job!" It was just as if one of those knights +of old had called slaying dragons and delivering +the oppressed his "job!"</p> + +<p>Amory was exalted as she had never been exalted. +She turned to him where he stood on the +hearth, and laved him with a fond and exultant +look.</p> + +<p>"I see," she said bravely. "I was wretchedly +selfish. But remember, won't you, when you're +fighting this great battle against all those odds, +and saying all those lovely things to the Indians, +and getting their confidence, and just showing +all those other people how stupid they are, that <i>I</i> +didn't stop you, dear! I know it would be beastly +of me to stop you! I shouldn't be worthy of +you.... But I think you ought to appoint a +Committee or something, and have the meetings +reported in the 'Novum,' and I'm sure Cosimo +wouldn't grudge the money. Oh, how I wish I +could help!——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> + +<p>But he did not say, as she had half hoped he +would say, that she did help, by inspiring. Instead, +he held out his hand. As she took it in both of +hers she wondered what she ought to do with it. +If it had been his foot, and he had been the old-fashioned +sort of knight, she could have fastened +a spur on it. Or she might have belted a sword +about his waist. But to have filled his fountain-pen, +which was his real weapon, would have been +rather stupid.... He was leading her, ever so +sympathetically, to the door. He opened it, took +from it the notice that had kept Mr. Prang away, +and stood with her on the landing.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," she said.</p> + +<p>He glanced over his shoulder, and then almost hurt +her hands, he gripped them so hard.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," he said, his eyes looking into hers. +"You <i>do</i> understand, don't you, Amory?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Edgar."</p> + +<p>Even then he seemed loth to part from her. He +accompanied her to the top of the stairs.—"You'll +let me know when you're coming again, won't +you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>And she tore herself away.</p> + +<p>At the first turning of the stairs Amory stood +aside to allow a rather untidy young woman to +pass. This young woman had a long bare neck +that reminded Amory of an artist's model, and her +hands were thrust into the fore-pockets of a brown +knitted coat. She was whistling, but she stopped +when she saw Amory.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you know whether Mr. Dickinson, the poster +artist, is up here?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"The next floor, I think," Amory replied.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said the girl, and passed up.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> +<h2>IV</h2> + +<h3>THE OUTSIDERS</h3> + + +<p>"No, not this week," Dorothy said. "Dot +wrote a fortnight ago. This one's from +Mollie. (You remember Mollie, Katie? She came to +that funny little place we had on Cheyne Walk once, +but of course she was only about twelve then. +She's nearly nineteen now, and <i>so</i> tall! They've +just gone to Kohat).—Shall I read it, auntie?"</p> + +<p>And she read:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"'I'm afraid I wrote you a hatefully skimpy letter +last time—,'" h'm, we can skip that; here's where +they started: "'It was the beastliest journey that I +ever made. To begin with, we were the eighteenth +tonga that day, so we got tired and wretched ponies; +we had one pair for fifteen miles and couldn't get +another pair for love or money. We left Murree at +two o'clock and got to Pindi at nine. The dust was +ghastly. Mercifully Baba slept like a lump in our +arms from five till nine, so he was all right. We had +from nine till one to wait in Pindi Station, and had +dinner, and Baba had a wash and clean-up and a +bottle, and we got on board the train and off. +Baba's cot, etc.; and we settled down for the night.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +Nurse and Baba and Mary and I were in one carriage +and Jim next door. I slept beautifully till one +o'clock, and then I woke and stayed awake. The +bumping was terrific, and it made me so angry to +look down on the others and see them fast asleep! +I had an upper berth. Baba slept from eleven-thirty +till six-thirty! So we had no trouble at all +with him——'</p></div> + +<p>"Well, and so they got to Kohat. (I hope this +isn't boring you, Katie.)"</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"'It was most beautifully cool and fresh, and we +had the mess tonga and drove to the bungalow. The +flowering shrubs here would delight Auntie Grace. +I've fallen in love with a bush of hibiscus in the +compound, but find it won't live in water, but +droops directly one picks it. The trees are mostly +the palmy kind, and so green, and the ranges of hills +behind are exactly like the Red Sea ranges. The +outside of our bungalow is covered with purple +convolvulus, and the verandah goes practically all +round it. Jim's room is just like him—heads he's +shot, study, dressing-room, and workshop, all in +one, and it's quite the fullest room in the house. +Beyond that there's my room, looking out over the +Sinai Range——'</p></div> + +<p>"Then there are the drawing and dining-rooms——"</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"'The curtains are a pale terra-cotta pink over the +door and dark green in the bay-windows, with white<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +net in front. The drawing-room is all green. The +durrie (that's the carpet) is green, with a darker +border, and the sofa and chairs and mantelpiece-cover +and the screen behind the sofa all green. There's +another bay-window, with far curtains of green and +the near ones chintz, an awfully pretty cream spotted +net with a green hem let in. That makes three +lots, two in the window itself and a third on a pole +where the arch comes into the room. Then over +the three doors there are chintz curtains, cream, +with a big pattern of pink and green and blue, just +like Harrods' catalogue——'</p></div> + +<p>"Can't you <i>see</i> it all!—H'm, h'm!... Then +on the Sunday morning they got the mess tonga +and went out to Dhoda, with butterfly-nets, and +Jim went fishing—h'm, h'm—and she says—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"'It's just like the Old Testament; I shouldn't +have been in the least surprised to meet Abraham +and Jacob. It's the flatness of it, and the flocks +and herds. There are women with pitchers on their +heads, and a man was making scores of bricks +with mud and straw—exactly like the pictures of the +Children of Israel in "<i>Line upon Line</i>." And about +a hundred horses and mules and donkeys and carts +all stopped at midday, because it was so hot, and +it was just what I'd always imagined Jacob doing. +But inside cantonments it isn't a bit Biblical, but +rather too civilized, etc.'</p></div> + +<p>("Isn't Katie patient, listening to all this, +auntie!")<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"'But you can't go far afield at Kohat. At Murree +you could always get a three or four mile walk round +Pindi Point, but here it's just to the Club and back. +We go to the Central Godown and the Fancy Godown +to shop. The Central is groceries, and the +Fancy tooth-powder, Scrubb's Ammonia, etc. On +Saturday they were afraid Captain Horrocks had +smallpox, and so we all got vaccinated, but now that +we've all taken beautifully it seems it isn't smallpox +after all, and we've all got swelled arms, but Captain +Horrocks is off the sick-list to-morrow. Colonel +Wade is smaller than ever. Mrs. Wade is coming out +by the "Rewa." Mrs. Beecher came to tea on +Sunday——'</p></div> + +<p>("Is that <i>our</i> Mrs. Beecher, when Uncle Dick was +at Chatham, auntie?")—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"'—and I forgot to say that Dot's parrots stood +the journey awfully well, but they've got at the +loquat trees and destroyed all the young shoots. +Jim saw us safely in and is now off on his Indus trip. +The 56th are going in March, and the 53rd come +instead. I'm sure the new baby's a little darling; +what are you going to call him?——'</p></div> + +<p>"And so on. I <i>do</i> think she writes such good +letters. Now let's have yours, Aunt Grace (and +that really <i>will</i> be the end, Katie)."</p> + +<p>And Lady Tasker's letters also were "put +in."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It was a Sunday afternoon, at Cromwell Gardens. +Stan was away with his film company for the week-end, +and Dorothy had got Katie to stay with her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +during his absence and had proposed a call on Lady +Tasker. They had brought the third Bit with them, +and he now slept in one of the cots upstairs. Lady +Tasker sat with her crochet at the great first-floor +window that looked over its balcony out along the +Brompton Road. On the left stretched the long +and grey and red and niched and statued façade of +the Victoria and Albert Museum, and the failing of +the western flush was leaving the sky chill and +sharp as steel and the wide traffic-polished road +almost of the same colour. Inside the lofty room +was the still glow of a perfect "toasting fire," and +Lady Tasker had just asked Katie to be so good as +to put more coal on before it sank too low.</p> + +<p>Katie Deedes had made no scruple whatever about +changing her coat in more senses of the words than +one. She had bought a navy-blue costume and a +new toque (with a wing in it), and since then had +got into the way of expressing her doubts whether +Britomart Belchamber's hockey legs and Dawn of +Freedom eye were in the truest sense feminine. +Nay, that is altogether to understate the change in +Katie. She had now no doubt about these things +whatever. As Saul became Paul, so Katie now not +only reviled that which she had cast off, but was even +prepared, like the Apostle at Antioch, to withstand +the older Peters of Imperialism to their faces, did +she detect the least sign of temporizing in them. +And this treason had involved the final giving-way +of every one of her old associates. She was all for +guns and grim measures; and while she looked +fondly on Boy Scouts in the streets, and talked about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +"the thin end of the wedge of Conscription," she +scowled on the dusky-skinned sojourners within +London's gates, and advocated wholesale deportations.</p> + +<p>And in all this Katie Deedes was only returning +to her own fold, though her people were not soldiers, +but lawyers. For the matter of that, her father's +cousin was a very august personage indeed, for +whose comfort, when he travelled, highly-placed +railway officials made themselves personally responsible, +and whose solemn progress to Assize was snapshotted +for the illustrated papers and thrown on +five hundred cinema screens. In the past Katie +had been privileged to call this kingpost of the +Law "Uncle Joe."...</p> + +<p>And then Mr. Strong had got hold of her....</p> + +<p>And after Mr. Strong, Mr. Wilkinson....</p> + +<p>And according to Mr. Wilkinson, the most ferocious +of the hanging-judges had been a beaming humanitarian +by comparison with Sir Joseph. Mr. Wilkinson +had the whole of Sir Joseph's career at his +fingers' ends: the So-and-So judgment—this or that +flagrant summing up—the other deliberate and +wicked misdirection to the jury. Sir Joseph's +heart was black, his law bunkum, and he had only +got where he was by self-advertisement and picking +the brains of men a hundred times fitter for heaven +than himself....</p> + +<p>Therefore Katie, hearing this horrible tale, had +quailed, and had straightway given away this devil +who was the sinister glory of her house. She had +agreed that he was a man whom anybody might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +righteously have shot on sight, and had gathered her +Greenaway garments about her whenever she had +passed within a mile of Sir Joseph's door....</p> + +<p>But now he was "Uncle Joe" again, and—well, +it must have been rather funny. For Katie's +impressionable conscience had given her no rest day +or night until she had sought Uncle Joe out and +had made a clean breast of it all before him. Katie +had fancied she had seen something like a twinkle +in those sinful old eyes, but (this was when she +mentioned the name of the "Novum") the twinkle +had vanished again. Oh, yes, Sir Joseph had heard of +the "Novum." Didn't a Mr. Prang write for it?...</p> + +<p>And thereupon Katie had given Mr. Prang away +too....</p> + +<p>But in the end Sir Joseph had forgiven her, and +had told her that she had better not be either a +revolutionary, nor yet the kind of Conservative that +is only a revolutionary turned inside-out, but just +a good little girl, and had asked her how she was +getting on, and why she hadn't been to see her Aunt +Anne, and whether she would like some tickets for +a Needlework Exhibition; and now she was just beginning +to forget that he had ever been anything but +"Uncle Joe," who had given her toys at Christmas, +and Sunday tickets for the Zoo whenever she had +wanted to go there on that particularly crowded +day.</p> + +<p>Dorothy had had something of this in her mind +when she had brought Katie to Cromwell Gardens +that Sunday afternoon. From Katie's new attitude +to her own Ludlow project was not so far as it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +seemed. If she could lead the zealous 'vert to such +promising general topics as Boy Scouts, Compulsory +Service, and the preparation of boys for the Army +(topics that Katie constantly brought forward by +denunciation of their opposites), her scheme would +certainly not suffer, and might even be advanced.</p> + +<p>And, as it happened, no sooner had Dorothy tucked +her last letter back into its envelope than Katie broke +out—earnestly, proselytizingly, and very prettily +on the stump.</p> + +<p>"There you are!" she exclaimed. "That's all +<i>exactly</i> what I mean! Why, any one of those letters +ought to be enough to convince anybody! Here are +all these stupid people at home, ready to believe +everything a native tells them, going on as they do, +and hardly one of them's ever set foot out of England +in his life! Of course the Indians know exactly +what <i>they</i> want, but don't you see, Dorothy—," +very patiently she explained it for fear Dorothy +should not see, "—don't you see that it's all so +much a matter of course to Mollie and those that +they can actually write whole letters about window-curtains! +I <i>love</i> that about the window-curtains! +It's all such an old story to <i>them</i>! They <i>know</i>, you +see, and haven't got to be talking about it all the +time in order to persuade themselves! There it +<i>is</i>!—But these other people don't know anything at +all. They don't even see what a perfect answer +window-curtains are to them! They go on and on +and on—you <i>do</i> see what I mean, Dorothy?——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear," said Dorothy, mildly thinking of +the great number of people there were in the world<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +who would take no end of trouble to explain things +to her. "Go on."</p> + +<p>And Katie continued to urge upon her friend the +argument that those know most about a country +who know most about it.</p> + +<p>Katie had got to the stage of being almost sure +that she remembered Mollie's coming into the studio +in Cheyne Walk one day, when Lady Tasker, who +had not spoken, suddenly looked up from her +crochet and said, "Look, Dorothy—that's the girl +I was speaking about—coming along past the +Museum there."</p> + +<p>Dorothy rose and walked to the window.— +"Where?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Passing the policeman now."</p> + +<p>Dorothy gave a sudden exclamation.—"Why," +she exclaimed, "—come here, Katie, quick—it's +Amory Towers!—It is Amory, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Katie had run to the window, too. The two +women stood watching the figure in the mushroom-white +hat and the glaucous blue velvet that idled +forlornly along the pavement.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean Mrs. Pratt?" said Lady Tasker, +putting up her glass again. "Are you quite sure?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Once before in her life, in the days before her +marriage, Amory Towers had done the same thing +that she was doing now. Then, seeking something, +perhaps a refuge from herself, she had walked the +streets until she was ready to drop with fatigue, +watching faces passing, passing, for ever passing, +and slowly gathering from them a hypnotic stupor.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +Sometimes, for hour after hour, she had seen nothing +but eyes—eyes various in shape and colour as the +pebbles on a beach, sometimes looking into hers, +sometimes looking past her, sometimes tipped with +arrow-heads of white as they turned, sometimes only +to be seen under their lids as a finger-nail is seen +within the finger of a glove. And at other times, +weary of her fellow-beings and ceasing to look any +more at them, she had seen nothing but doors and +windows, or fan-lights, or the numbers of houses, +or window-boxes, or the patterns of railings, or the +serried shapes of chimneys against the sky. She +had been looking, and yet not looking, for Cosimo +Pratt then; she was looking, and yet not looking, +for Edgar Strong now. Had she met him she had +nothing new to say to him; she only knew +that he had taken weak possession of her mind. +She was looking for him in South Kensington because +he had once told her, when asked suddenly, that he +lived in Sydney Street, S.W., and frequently walked +to the Indian section of the Imperial Institute in +order to penetrate into the real soul of a people +through its art; and she was not looking for him, +because one day she had remembered that he had +said before that he lived in South Kentish Town—which +was rather like South Kensington, but not the +same—and something deep down within her told +her that the other was a lie.</p> + +<p>But yet her feet dragged her to the quarter, as +to other quarters, and she talked to herself as she +walked. She told herself that her husband did not +understand her, and that it would be romantic and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +silencing did she take a lover to her arms; and she +could have wept that, of all the flagrant splendours +of which she dreamed, London's grey should remain +her only share. And she knew that the attendants +at the Imperial Institute had begun to look at her. +Once she had spoken to one of them, but when she +had thought of asking him whether he knew a Mr. +Strong who came there to study Indian Art, her +heart had suddenly failed her, and the question had +stayed unspoken. Nevertheless she had feared that +the man had guessed her thought, and must be +taking stock of her face against some contingency +(to visualize which passed the heavy time on) that +had a Divorce Court in it, and hotel porters and +chambermaids who gave evidence, and the Channel +boat, and two forsaken children, and grimy raptures +in the Latin Quarter, and its hectic cafés at night....</p> + +<p>And so she walked, feeling herself special and +strange and frightened and half-resolved; and thrice +in as many weeks Lady Tasker, sitting with her +crochet at her window, had seen her pass, but had +not been able to believe that this was the woman, +with a husband and children, on whom she had once +called at that house with the secretive privet hedge +away in Hampstead.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> Amory!" Dorothy exclaimed. "Is she +coming here?"</p> + +<p>Lady Tasker spoke reflectively.—"I don't know. +I don't think so. But—will you fetch her in? I +should like to see her."</p> + +<p>"If you like, auntie," said Dorothy, though a +little reluctantly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Lady Tasker seemed to change her mind. +She laid down her crochet and rose.</p> + +<p>"No, never mind," she said. "I'll fetch her myself."</p> + +<p>And the old lady of seventy passed slowly out of +the room, and Katie and Dorothy moved away +from the window.</p> + +<p>Lady Tasker was back again in five minutes, but +no Amory came with her. She walked back to her +chair, moved it, and took up her work again.—"Switch +the table light on," she said.</p> + +<p>"Was it Amory?" Dorothy ventured to ask after +a silence.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Lady Tasker replied.</p> + +<p>"And wouldn't she come in?"</p> + +<p>"She said she was hurrying back home."</p> + +<p>That raised a question so plain that Dorothy +thought it tactful to make rather a fuss about finding +some album or other that should convince Katie +that she really had met the Mollie who had written +the letter about the window-curtains. Lady Tasker's +needle was dancing rather more quickly than usual. +Dorothy found her album, switched on another light, +and told Katie to make room for her on her chair.</p> + +<p>Amory, dawdling like that, and then, when spoken +to, to have the face to say that she was hurrying +back home!——</p> + +<p>It was some minutes later that Lady Tasker said +off-handedly, "Has she any children besides those +twins?"</p> + +<p>"Amory?" Dorothy replied, looking up from the +album. "No."</p> + +<p>"How old is she?" Lady Tasker asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Thirty-two, isn't she, Katie?"</p> + +<p>"About that."</p> + +<p>"Is she very—athletic?" Lady Tasker next +wanted to know.</p> + +<p>"Not at all, I should say."</p> + +<p>"I mean she doesn't go in for marathon races or +Channel swimming or anything of that kind?"</p> + +<p>"Amory? No," said Dorothy, puzzled.</p> + +<p>"And you're sure of her age?" the old lady +persisted.</p> + +<p>"Well—she may only be thirty-one."</p> + +<p>"I don't mean is she younger. Is she <i>older</i> than +that?"</p> + +<p>"No—I know by my own age."</p> + +<p>"H'm!" said Lady Tasker; and again her needle +danced....</p> + +<p>Dorothy was explaining to Katie that Mollie was +fair, about her own colour, but of course the hair +never came out right in a photograph, when Lady +Tasker suddenly began a further series of questions.</p> + +<p>"Dorothy——"</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"Did she—develop—early?"</p> + +<p>"Who—Amory? I don't know. Did she, Katie? +Of course she was quite the cleverest girl at the +McGrath."</p> + +<p>"Ah!... What did she do at the McGrath?"</p> + +<p>"Why, painted. You're awfully mysterious, +auntie! It was soon after she left the McGrath +that she painted 'Barrage'—you've heard of her +feminist picture that made such a stir!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes. Yes. I didn't see it, but I did hear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +about it. I don't know anything about art.—Had +she any affair before she married young Pratt?"</p> + +<p>"No. I'm sure of that. I knew her so well." +Dorothy was quite confident on that point, and +Katie agreed. Lady Tasker's questions continued.</p> + +<p>And then, suddenly, into this apparently aimless +catechism the word "doctor" came. Dorothy +gave a start.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Grace!... Do you mean Amory's ill?" +she cried.</p> + +<p>Lady Tasker did not look up from her crochet.—"Ill?" +she said. "I've no reason to suppose so. +I didn't say she was ill. There's no illness about +it.... By the way, I don't think I've asked how +Stan is."</p> + +<p>But for the curiously persistent questions, Dorothy +might have seized the opportunity to hint that +Stan was made for something more nationally useful +than getting himself black and blue by stopping runaway +horses for the film or running the risk of double +pneumonia by being fished out of the sea on a +January day—which was the form his bread-winning +was taking on that particular week-end. But the +Ludlow design was for the moment forgotten. She +would have liked to ask her aunt straight out what +she really meant, but feared to be rude. So she +turned to the album again, and again Katie, turning +from turban to staff-cap and from staff-cap to pith +helmet, urged that <i>those</i> were the people who really +knew what they were talking about—surely Dorothy +saw <i>that</i>!——</p> + +<p>Then, in the middle of Dorothy's bewilderment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +once more the questions.... About that painting +of her friend's, Lady Tasker wanted to know: did +Mrs. Pratt get any real satisfaction out of it?—Any +emotional satisfaction?—Was she entirely +wrapped up in it?—Or was it just a sort of hitting at +the air?—Did it exhaust her to no purpose, or was +it really worth something when it was done?——</p> + +<p>"If Dorothy doesn't know, surely you do, Katie."</p> + +<p>Katie coloured a little.—"I liked 'Barrage' +awfully at the time," she confessed, "but—," +and she cheered up again, "—I <i>hate</i> it now."</p> + +<p>"But did her work—what's the expression?—fill +her life?"</p> + +<p>Here Dorothy answered for Katie.—"I think she +rather liked the fame part of it," she said slowly.</p> + +<p>"Does she paint now?"</p> + +<p>"Very little, I think, Lady Tasker."</p> + +<p>"Has her children to look after, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Well—she has both a nurse and a governess——"</p> + +<p>"They're quite well off, aren't they? I seem to +remember that Pratt came into quite a lot."</p> + +<p>"They seem to spend a great deal."</p> + +<p>"But that's only a small house of theirs?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, they're rather proud of that. They +don't spend their money selfishly. It goes to the +Cause, you see."</p> + +<p>"What Cause?" Lady Tasker asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>This was Katie's cue....</p> + +<p>She ceased, and Lady Tasker muttered something. +It sounded rather like "H'm! Too much money +and not enough to do!" but neither of her companions +was near enough to be quite sure.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p> + +<p>And thereupon the questions stopped.</p> + +<p>But a surmise of their drift had begun to dawn +glimmeringly upon Dorothy. She ceased to hear +the exposition of Imperialism's real needs into which +Katie presently launched, and fell into a meditation. +And of that meditation this was about the length +and breadth:—</p> + +<p>Until the law should allow a man to have more +wives than one (if then), of course only one woman +in the world could be perfectly happy—the woman +who had Stan. That conviction came first, and +last, and ran throughout her meditation. And of +what Dorothy might compassionately have called +secondary happinesses she had hitherto not thought +very much. She had merely thanked her stars that +she had not married a man like Cosimo, had once +or twice rather resented Amory's well-meant but +left-handed kindnesses, and that had been the extent +of her concern about the Pratt household. But +first Katie, and now her aunt, had set her wondering +hard enough about that household now.</p> + +<p>What, she asked herself, had the Pratts married on? +What discoveries had they made in one another, +what resources found within themselves? Apart +from their talks and books and meetings and "interests" +and that full pack of their theories, what was +their marriage? Thrown alone together for an +hour, did they fret? Did their yawning cease when +the bell rang and a caller was admitted? Did even +the same succession of callers become stale and a +bore, so that strangers had to be sought to provide +a stimulus? And did they call these and half a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +hundred other forms of mutual boredom by the +rather resounding names that blabbing Katie had +repeated to her—"wider interests," "the broad +outlook," "the breaking down of personal insularity," +and the rest?</p> + +<p>And for once Dorothy dropped her excusatory +attitude towards her friend. She dropped it so +completely that by and by she found herself wondering +whether Amory would have married Cosimo had +he been a poor man. She was aware that, stated +in that way, it sounded hideous; nor did she quite +mean that perhaps Amory had married Cosimo +simply and solely because he had <i>not</i> been poor; +no doubt Amory had assumed other things to be +equal that as a matter of fact had unfortunately +proved to be not equal at all; but she <i>did</i> +doubt now whether Amory had not missed that +something, that something made of so many things, +that caused her own heart suddenly to gush out to +the absent Stan. The thought frightened her a +little. Had Amory married and had babies—all, +as it were, beside the mark?...</p> + +<p>Dorothy did not know.</p> + +<p>But an obscurer hint still had seemed to lie behind +her aunt's persistent questions. "Was Amory +ill?" she herself had asked in alarm when that +unexpected word "doctor" had been quietly +dropped; and "Ill? I didn't say she was ill; +there's no illness about it," Lady Tasker had replied. +No illness about what? Apparently about something +Lady Tasker saw, or thought she saw, in +Amory.... An old lady whose years had earned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +her the right to sit comfortably in her chair had +gone so far as to descend the stairs and go out into +the street to have a closer look at a young one: why? +Why ask "Is she a Channel swimmer?" and "Is +her painting a mere hitting of the air?" Why +this insistence on some satisfaction for labour, as +if without that satisfaction the labour wreaked on +the labourer some sort of revenge? What sort of +a revenge? And why on Amory?</p> + +<p>Yes, Dorothy would have liked to ask her aunt a +good many questions....</p> + +<p>She did not know that Lady Tasker could not +have answered them. She did not know that the +whole world is waiting for precisely those replies. +She did not know that the data of a great experiment +have not yet begun to be gathered together. +She did not know that, while she and Stan would +never see the results of that experiment, little Noel +and the other Bits, and Corin and Bonniebell +might. She only knew that her aunt was a wise +and experienced woman, with an appetite for life +and all belonging to it that only grew the stronger +as her remaining years drew in, and that apparently +Lady Tasker found something to question, if not to +fear.</p> + +<p>"Is she a Channel swimmer? Does she get any +emotional satisfaction out of what she does?"</p> + +<p>They were oddly precise questions....</p> + +<p>Much less odd was that homely summing-up of +Lady Tasker's: "Too much money, and not enough +to do."...</p> + +<p>Dorothy had often thought that herself.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> + +<h2>V</h2> + +<h3>"HOUSE FULL"</h3> + + +<p>The gate in the privet hedge of The Witan had +had little rest all the afternoon. It was a +Sunday, the one following that on which Lady +Tasker had issued bareheaded from her door, had +crossed the road, and had caused Amory to start +half out of her skin by suddenly speaking to her. +The Wyrons had come in the morning; they had +been expressly asked to lunch; but it was known +that Dickie Lemesurier was coming in afterwards to +discuss an advertisement, and if Dickie came the +chances were that Mr. Brimby would not be very +long after her. As a matter of fact Dickie and Mr. +Brimby had encountered one another outside and +had arrived together at a little after three, bringing +three young men, friends of Mr. Brimby's still at +Oxford, with them. These young men wore Norfolk +jackets, gold-pinned polo-collars, black brogues and +turned-up trousers; and apparently they had +hesitated to take Cosimo at his word about "spreading +themselves about anywhere," for they stood +shoulder to shoulder in the studio, and when one +turned to look at a picture or other object on the +wall, all did so. Then, not many minutes later,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +Mr. Wilkinson had entered, in his double-breasted +blue reefer, bringing with him a stunted, bowlegged +man who did not carry, but looked as if +he ought to have carried, a miner's lamp; and by +half-past four, of The Witan's habitués, only Mr. +Prang and Edgar Strong were lacking. But Edgar +was coming. It had been found impossible, or at +any rate Amory had decided that it was impossible, +to discuss the question of Dickie's advertisement +without him. But he was very late.</p> + +<p>When Britomart Belchamber came in simultaneously +with the tea and the twins at a little before +five, the studio was full. The asbestos log purred +softly, and Mr. Brimby's three Oxford friends, glad +perhaps of something to do, walked here and there, +each of them with a plate of bread and butter in +either hand, not realizing that at The Witan the +beautiful Chinese rule of politeness was always +observed—"When the stranger is in your melon-patch, +be a little inattentive." Had Dickie Lemesurier +and Laura Wyron eaten half the white and +brown that was presented to them, they must have +been seriously unwell. It was Cosimo, grey-collared +and with a claret-coloured velvet waistcoat showing +under his slackly-buttoned tweed jacket, who gave +the young men the friendly hint, "Everybody helps +themselves here, my dear fellows." Then the +Norfolk jackets came together again, and presently +their owners turned with one accord to examine +the hock and the top-side that hung on the wall over +the sofa.</p> + +<p>Not so much a blending of voices as an incessant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +racket of emphatic and independent pronouncements +filled the studio. Walter Wyron had fastened upon +the man who looked as if he ought to have carried +a miner's lamp, and his forefinger was wagging like +a gauge-needle as he explained that one of his +Lectures had been misrepresented, and that he had +<i>never</i> taken up the position that a kind of Saturnalia +should be definitely state-established. He +admitted, nevertheless, that the question of such an +establishment ought to be considered, like any other +question, on its merits, and that after that the argument +should be followed whithersoever it led.—Dickie +Lemesurier, excessively animated, and with +the whites showing dancingly all round her pupils, +was talking Césanne and Van Gogh to Laura, and +declaring that something was "quite the" something +or other.—Mr. Brimby's hand was fondling +Bonniebell's head while he deprecated the high +degree of precision of the modern rifle to Mr. Wilkinson. +"If only it wasn't so ruthlessly logical!" +he was sighing. "If only it was subject to the +slight organic accident, to those beautiful adaptations +of give-and-take that make judgment +harsh, and teach us that we ought never to condemn!"—Corin, +drawn by the word "gun," was +demanding to be told whether that was the gun +that had been taken away from him.—And Britomart +Belchamber, indifferent alike to the glances +of the Oxford men and their trepidation in her +presence, stood like a caryatid under a wall-bracket +with an ivy-green replica of Bastianini's Dante upon +it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, no, not for a moment, my dear sir!" +Walter shouted to the man who looked like (and +was) a miner. "That is to ignore the context. I +admit I used the less-known Pompeian friezes as a +rough illustration of what I meant—but I did <i>not</i> +suggest that Waring & Gillow's should put them +on the market! What I did say was that we +moderns must work out our damnation on the same +lines that the ancients did. Read your Nietzsche, +my good fellow, and see what <i>he</i> says about the +practical serviceability of Excess! I contend that +a kind of general <i>oubliance</i>, say for three weeks in +the year, to which everybody without exception +would have to conform (so that we shouldn't have +the superior person bringing things up against us +afterwards)——"</p> + +<p>"Ah doan't see how ye could mak' fowk——," the +miner began, in an accent that for a moment +seemed to blast a hole clean through the racket. +But the hole closed up again.</p> + +<p>"Ah, at present you don't," Walter cried. "The +spade-work isn't done yet. We need more education. +But every new and great idea——"</p> + +<p>But here an outburst from Mr. Wilkinson to Mr. +Brimby drowned Walter's voice. Mr. Wilkinson +raised his clenched fist, but only for emphasis, and +not in order to strike Mr. Brimby.</p> + +<p>"Stuff and nonsense! There you go, Brimby, +trimming again! We've heard all that: 'A great +deal to be said on both sides,'"—(Mr. Wilkinson all +but mimicked Mr. Brimby). "There isn't—not if +you're going to do anything! There's only one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +side. You've got to shoot or be shot. I'm a +shooter. Give me five hundred real men and plenty +of barricade stuff——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, oh, oh, my dear friend!" Mr. Brimby +protested. "Why, if your principles were universally +applied——"</p> + +<p>"Who said anything about applying 'em universally? +Hang your universal applications! I'm +talking about the Industrial Revolution. I'll tell +you what's the matter with you, Brimby: you don't +like the sight of blood. I'm not blaming you. +Some men are like that. But it's in every page of +your writing. You've got a bloodless style. I don't +mind admitting that I liked some of your earlier work, +while there still seemed a chance of your making up +your mind some day——"</p> + +<p>But here Mr. Wilkinson in his turn was drowned, +this time by an incredulous laugh from Cosimo, who +had joined Dickie and Laura.</p> + +<p>"Van Gogh says <i>that</i>?" his voice mounted high. +"Really? You're sure he wasn't joking? Ha ha +ha ha!... But it's rather pathetic really. One +would think Amory'd never painted 'Barrage,' nor +the 'White Slave,' nor that—," he pointed to the +unfinished canvas of "The Triumph of Humane +Government" on the wall. "By Jove, I must make +an Appendix of that!... Here—Walter!—Have +you told him, Dickie?—Walter!——"</p> + +<p>But Walter was now at deadly grips with the man +who had forgotten his miner's lamp.</p> + +<p>"I tell you I never used Saturnalia in that sense at +all!——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> + +<p>But the miner stood his ground.</p> + +<p>"Happen ye didn't, but I'll ask ye one question: +Have ye ever been to Blackpool of a August Bank +Holiday?——"</p> + +<p>"My good man, you talk as if I proposed to do +something with the stroke of a pen, to-morrow, before +the world's ready for it——"</p> + +<p>"Have ye ever been to Blackpool of a Bank +Holiday?"</p> + +<p>"What on earth has Blackpool to do with it?——"</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll say Owdham Wakes week at t' Isle o' +Man—Douglas——"</p> + +<p>"Pooh! You've got hold of the wrong idea altogether! +Do you know what Saturnalia <i>means</i>?——"</p> + +<p>"I know there's a man on Douglas Head, at twelve +o'clock i' t' day, wi' t' sun shining, going round wi' a +stick an' prodding 'em up an' telling 'em to break +away——"</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't have thought anybody could have +been so <i>incredibly</i> slow to grasp an idea—!" cried +Walter, his hands aloft.</p> + +<p>"Have—you—ever—been—to—Blackpool—when—t' +Wakes—is on?"</p> + +<p>Then Cosimo called again—</p> + +<p>"Walter! I say! Come here!... Dickie's just +told me something that makes the '<i>Life and Work</i>' +<i>rather</i> necessary, I think!——"</p> + +<p>And Walter turned his back on the miner and +joined his wife and Dickie and Cosimo.</p> + +<p>Anybody who wasn't anybody might have supposed +the noise to be a series of wrangles, but of course +it wasn't so at all really. Issues far too weighty hung<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> +in the balance. It is all very well for people whose +mental range is limited by <i>matinées</i> and Brooklands +and the newest car to talk in pleasant and unimpassioned +voices, but what was going to happen to Art +unless Cosimo hurled himself and the '<i>Life and +Work</i>' against this heretic Van Gogh, and what was +to become of England if Walter allowed a pig-headed +man who could say nothing but "Blackpool Pier, +Blackpool Pier," to shout him down, and what would +happen to Civilization if Mr. Wilkinson did not, +figuratively speaking, take hold of the dilettante +Brimby and shake him as a terrier shakes a rat? +No: there would be time enough for empty politenesses +when the battle was won.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, a mere nobody might have +thought they were merely excessively rude to one +another.</p> + +<p>Then began fresh combinations and permutations +of the talk. Mr. Wilkinson, whose square-cut pilot +jacket somehow added to the truculence of his appearance, +planted himself firmly for conversation before +Dickie Lemesurier; the miner, whose head at a little +distance appeared bald, but on a closer view was seen +to be covered with football-cropped and plush-like +bristles, nudged Cosimo's hip, to attract his attention: +and Walter Wyron sprang forward with a welcoming +"Hallo, Raffinger!" as the door opened and two +young McGrath students were added to the crowd. +For a minute no one voice preponderated in the +racket; it was—</p> + +<p>"Hallo, Raff! Thought you weren't coming!"</p> + +<p>"I want a gun!" (This from Corin.)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My dear Corin" (this from Bonniebell), "Miss +Belchamber's told you over and over again guns are +anti-social——"</p> + +<p>"Anybody smoking? Well, I know they don't +mind——"</p> + +<p>"But, Miss Lemesurier, where a speaker reaches +only a hundred or two, the written word——"</p> + +<p>"Ah, but the personal, magnetic thrill——" +(This was in Dickie's rather deep voice.)</p> + +<p>Then Walter, to somebody else, not the miner—</p> + +<p>"I should have thought <i>anybody</i> would have +known that when I said Saturnalia I meant——"</p> + +<p>"Where's Amory?"</p> + +<p>"Sweet, in those little tunics!——"</p> + +<p>"A subsidy from the State, of course——"</p> + +<p>Then the miner, but not to Walter—</p> + +<p>"I' t' daylight, proddin' 'em up wi' a stick—to +say nowt o' Port Skillian bathin'-place of a fine +Sunda'——"</p> + +<p>"That hoary old lie, that Socialism means sharing——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, at any artists' colourman's——"</p> + +<p>"No; it will probably be published privately——"</p> + +<p>"Van Gogh——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you're <i>entirely</i> wrong!——"</p> + +<p>And then, in the middle of a sudden and mysterious +lull, the man who had come without his +safety-lamp was heard addressing Cosimo again:—</p> + +<p>"Well, what about t' new paaper? Owt settled +yet?... Nay, ye needn't look; Wilkinson telled +me; it's all right; nowt 'at's said 'll go beyond +these fower walls. Wilkinson's gotten a rare list<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> +together, names an' right, I can tell ye! But t' way +I look at it is this——"</p> + +<p>Cosimo looked blank.</p> + +<p>"But, my dear—I'm afraid I didn't catch your +name——," he said.</p> + +<p>"Crabtree—Eli Crabtree. This is t' point I want +to mak', mister. Ye see, I can't put things grammar; +but there's lots about 'at can; so I thowt +we'd get a sec'etary, an' I'd sit an' smoke whol' my +thowts come, and then I'd tell him t' tale. Ye see, +ye want to go slap into t' middle o' t' lives o' t' +people. Now comin' up o' t' tram-top I bethowt +me of a champion series: '<i>Back to Back Houses +I've Known</i>.' I'll bet a crahn that wi' somb'dy +to put it grammar for me——"</p> + +<p>"My dear Crabtree, I'm afraid, don't you know, +that there's been some mistake——"</p> + +<p>And at this point, everybody becoming conscious +at the same moment that they were listening, a +fresh wave of sound flowed over the assembly; and +presently Mr. Wilkinson was seen to take Cosimo +aside and to be making the gestures of a man who +is explaining some ridiculous mistake.</p> + +<p>Then once more:—</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon—I thought you were Mrs. +Pratt——"</p> + +<p>"Put grammar—straight to fowk's hearts—sinks +and slopstones an' all t' lot——"</p> + +<p>"No, Balliol——"</p> + +<p>"But listen, Pratt, the way the mistake +arose——"</p> + +<p>"Ellen Key, of course——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The 'Times!'—As if the 'Times' wasn't +<i>always</i> wrong!——"</p> + +<p>"There's a raucousness about her paint——"</p> + +<p>"The Caxton Hall, at eight—do come!——"</p> + +<p>"But we authors are so afraid of sentiment +nowadays!——"</p> + +<p>"Bombay, I think—or else Hyderabad——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he talks like a fool!——"</p> + +<p>"Raff! Come here and recite '<i>The King is +Duller</i>'——"</p> + +<p>"But Love <i>is</i> Law!——"</p> + +<p>"Suspend our judgments until we've heard the +other side——"</p> + +<p>"Only water—but they couldn't break her spirit—she +was out again in three days——"</p> + +<p>And again there came an unexpected lull.</p> + +<p>This time it was broken by, perhaps not the loudest, +but certainly the most travelling voice yet—the +voice of the caryatid beneath the bracket with the +bust upon it. Miss Belchamber was dressed in a +sleeveless surcoat chess-boarded with large black +and white squares; the skirt beneath it was of dark +blue linen; and there were beards of leather on her +large brown brogues. One of the young Oxford +men, greatly daring, had approached her and asked +her a question. She turned slowly; she gave the +young man the equal-soul-to-equal-soul look; and +then the apparatus of perfect voice-production was +set in motion. Easily and powerfully the air came +from her magnificent chest, up the splendid six-inch +main of her throat, rang upon the hard anterior +portion of her palate, and was cut, as it were, to its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +proper length and shaped into perfect enunciation +by her red tongue and beautiful white teeth.</p> + +<p>"What?" she said.</p> + +<p>The undergraduate fell a little back.</p> + +<p>"Only—I only asked if you'd been to many +theatres lately."</p> + +<p>"Not any."</p> + +<p>"Oh!... I—I suppose you know everybody +here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Do point them out to me!"</p> + +<p>"That's Walter Wyron. That's Mrs. Wyron. +That's Miss Lemesurier. I don't know who the +little man is. That's Mr. Wilkinson. My name's +Belchamber."</p> + +<p>"Oh—I say—I mean, thanks awfully. We've +heard of them all, of course," the unhappy young +man faltered.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"All distinguished names, I mean."</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"Rather!——"</p> + +<p>And again everybody listened, became conscious +of the fact, and broke out anew.</p> + +<p>But where all this time was Amory?</p> + +<p>Demonstrably, exactly where she ought to have +been—in her bedroom. She was too dispirited to be +accessible to the rational talk of others; she did not +feel that she had energy enough to be a source of +illumination herself; surely, then, merely because +a lot of people, invited and uninvited, chose to come +to The Witan, she need not put herself out to go and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +look after them. They might call themselves her +"guests" if they liked; Amory didn't care what form +of words they employed; the underlying reality +remained—that she was intensely bored, and too +fundamentally polite to bore others by going down. +Perhaps she would go down when Edgar came. She +had left word that she was to be informed of his +arrival. But he was very late.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, she knew that he would come. +Lately she had grown a little more perspicacious +about that. It had dawned on her that, everything +else apart, she had some sort of hold on him through +the "Novum," and there had been a trace of +command in her summons that he was pretty sure not +to disregard. No doubt he would try to get away +again almost directly, but she had arranged about +that. She intended to keep him to supper. Also +the Wyrons. And Britomart Belchamber too would +be there. And of course Cosimo.</p> + +<p>She moved restlessly between her narrow bed and +the window, now polishing her nails, now glancing +at her hair in the glass. From the window she could +see over the privet hedge and down the road, but +there was no sign of Edgar yet. She looked at herself<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">again in the glass, without favour, and then sat</span><br /> +down on the edge of her bed again.</p> + +<p>Her meeting with Lady Tasker the week before +had greatly unsettled her. Very stupidly, she had +quite forgotten that Lady Tasker lived in Cromwell +Gardens. She would have thought nothing at all of +the meeting had Lady Tasker had a hat on her head +and gloves on her hands; she would have set that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> +down as an ordinary street-encounter; but Dorothy's +aunt had evidently seen her from some window, +perhaps not for the first time, and, if not for the +first, very likely for the third or fourth or fifth. In +a word, Amory felt that she had been caught.</p> + +<p>And, as she had been thinking of Edgar Strong at +the moment when the old lady's voice had startled +her so, it was not beyond the bounds of possibility +that her start had seemed remarkable. Lady Tasker +was so very sharp.</p> + +<p>At all events, even Edgar was not going to have +everything all his own way.</p> + +<p>For she was sure now that she had the hold of the +"Novum" on him, and that that hold was not altogether +the single-minded devotion to his duty he had +made it out to be on that day when she had last gone +to the office. Not that she thought too unkindly of +him on that account. The labourer, even in the field +of Imperial Politics, is still worthy of his hire, and +poor Edgar, like the rest of the world, had to make +the best compromise he could between what he would +have liked to do and what circumstances actually +permitted him to do. Of course he would be anxious +to keep his job. If he didn't keep it a worse man +would get it, and India would be no better off, but +probably worse. She sighed that all work should be +subject to compromises of this kind. Edgar, in a +word, was no longer a hero to her, but, by his very +weakness, something a little nearer and dearer +still.</p> + +<p>But for all that she had not hesitated to use her +"pull" in order to get him to The Witan that day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> + +<p>She saw him as she advanced to the glass again. +He was nearly a quarter of a mile down the road. +She found a little secret delight in watching his approach +when he was unconscious of her watching. +His figure was still very small, and she indulged +herself with a fancy, closing her eyes for a moment +in order to do so. Suppose he had been, not +approaching, but going away—then when she opened +her eyes again he would look smaller still.... She +opened them, and experienced a little thrill at seeing +him nearer and plainer. She could distinguish the +red spot of his tie. Now he turned his head to look +at some people who passed. Now he stepped off +the pavement to make room for somebody. Now +he was on the pavement again—now hidden by a +tree—now once more disclosed, and quite near——</p> + +<p>She straightened herself, gave a last look into the +glass, and descended.</p> + +<p>She met him in the hall. They shook hands, but +did not speak. There was no need for him to ask +whether anybody had come; the babble of noise +could be plainly heard through the closed studio +door. They walked along the passage, descended +the two steps into the garden, and reached the studio.</p> + +<p>Strong opened the door, and—</p> + +<p>"<i>Ha, ha, ha!</i> I shall tell them that at the +Nursery!——"</p> + +<p>"No—just living together——"</p> + +<p>"Corin!—Corin!——"</p> + +<p>"The eighteenth, at the Little Theatre——"</p> + +<p>Then the voice of Mr. Crabtree vociferating to his +friend Mr. Wilkinson.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I thowt ye telled me 'at Pratt knew all about +it——"</p> + +<p>"One day in the High, just opposite Queens——"</p> + +<p>"Not know the '<i>Internationale</i>'!—Debout, les +damnés de la terre——!"</p> + +<p>Next, sonorously, Miss Belchamber.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I dance 'Rufty Tufty' and 'Catching of +Quails'——"</p> + +<p>"But my good chap, don't you see that the +Referendum——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, throw it down anywhere—on the hearth——"</p> + +<p>"Really, the bosh he talks——"</p> + +<p>"The Minority Report——"</p> + +<p>"Corin!——"</p> + +<p>"Plato——"</p> + +<p>"Prang——"</p> + +<p>Then, before anybody had had time to notice the +entry of Amory and Edgar Strong, an extraordinary, +not to say a regrettable thing occurred.</p> + +<p>Mr. Eli Crabtree had spent the last twenty minutes +in going deliberately from one person to another, +often thrusting himself unceremoniously between two +people already engaged in conversation, and in subjecting +them to questionings that had become less +and less reticent the further he had passed round the +room. And it appeared that this collier who had +forgotten his Davy had yet another lamp with him—the +lamp of his own narrow intelligence and inalienable, +if worthless, experience. By the help of that +darkness within him that he mistook for light, he had +added inference to inference and conclusion to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> +conclusion. Cosimo—Wilkinson—Walter Wyron—Brimby—the +Balliol men—the young students of the +McGrath—he had missed not one of them; but none +knew the portent of his tour of the studio until he had +reached the hearth again. Then he was seen to be +standing with his hands behind him, as if calmly +summing them up.</p> + +<p>"By—Gow!" he said half to himself, his football-cropped +head moving this way and that and his eyes +blinking rapidly as he sought somebody to address.</p> + +<p>Then, all in a moment, he ceased his attempt to +single out one more than another, and was addressing +them in the lump, for all the world as if he had been +allowed the entrée of the house, not as a high and +memorable privilege and in order that he might learn +something he had never suspected before, but as if, +finding himself there, <i>he</i> might as well tell <i>them</i> a +thing or two while he was about it. And though his +astonishment at what he had seen might well have +rendered him dumb, his good temper did not for an +instant forsake him.</p> + +<p>"By—Gow!" he said again. "But this <i>is</i> a +menagerie, an' reight!"</p> + +<p>The instantaneous dead silence and turn of every +head might have disconcerted a prophet, but they +made not the slightest impression on Mr. Crabtree.</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> a menagerie!" he continued superbly. +"Ding, if onnybody'd told me I wadn't ha' believed +'em!—Let's see how monny of ye there is——"</p> + +<p>And calmly he began to count them.</p> + +<p>"Fowerteen—fifteen—sixteen countin' them two +'at's just come in an' leavin' out t' barns. Sixteen of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +ye, grown men an' women, an' not a single one of +ye knows ye're born! Nay, it's cappin'!—Him +wi' his Salmagundys or whativver he calls 'em, an' +niver been on Douglas Head!—T' maister here, 'at +doesn't know what a back-to-back is, I'se warrant!—An' +yon chap—," Mr. Crabtree's forefinger was +straight as a pistol between Mr. Brimby's eyes, "—'at +says there's a deeal to be said o' both sides an'll +be having his pocket'ankercher out in a minute!—An' +these young men thro' t' Collidge!—Nay, if it +doesn't beat all! I ne'er thowt to live to see t' +day!——"</p> + +<p>And he made a T-t-t-ing with his tongue on his +palate, while his sharp little eyes looked on them all +with amusement and pity.</p> + +<p>Out of the silence of consternation that had fallen +on the studio Walter Wyron was the first to come. +He nudged Cosimo, as if to warn him not to spoil +everything, and then, with his hands deep in the +pockets of his knickers and an anticipatory relish on +his face, said "I say, old chap—make us a speech, +won't you?"</p> + +<p>But if Walter thought to take a rise out of Mr. +Crabtree he was quite, quite mistaken. With good-natured +truculence the collier turned on him also.</p> + +<p>"A speech?" he said. "Well, I wasn't at t' back +o' t' door when t' speechifyin'-powers was given out; +it wadn't be t' first time I'd made a speech, nut by a +mugfull. Mony's t' time they've put Eeali Crabtree +o' t' table i' t' 'Arabian Horse' at Aberford an' +called on him for a speech. I'd sooner mak' a speech +nor have a quart o' ale teamed down my collar, an'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +that's all t' choice there is when t' lads begins to get +lively!... I don't suppose onny o' ye's ever been i' t' +'Arabian Horse'? Ye owt to come, of a oppenin'-time +of a Sunda' morning. Ye'd see a bit o' life. +Happen ye might ha' to get at t' back o' t' door—if +they started slinging pints about, that is—but it's +all love, and ye've got to do summat wi' it when ye +can't sup onny more. I should like to have him 'at +talks about t' Paraphernalia there; it 'ld oppen his +eyes a bit! An' him 'at wor reciting about t' King +an' all—t' little bastard i' t' corner there——"</p> + +<p>At this word, used in so familiar and cheerful a +sense, Laura Wyron stiffened and turned her back; +but Walter still hoped for his "rise."</p> + +<p>"Go on," he said; "give us some more, old chap."</p> + +<p>The child of nature needed no urging.</p> + +<p>"Ay, as much as ivver ye like," he said accommodatingly. +"But I wish I'd browt my voice jewjewbes. +Ay, I willn't be t' only one 'at isn't talking! T' +rest on ye talks—ding, it's like a lamb's tail, waggin' +all day and nowt done at neet—so we mud as weel +all be friendly-like! Talk! Ay, let's have a talk! +Here ye all are, all wi' your fine voices an' fine clothes, +an' ivvery one o' ye wi' t' conveeanience i' t' house, +I don't doubt, an' I'll bet a gallon there isn't one o' +ye's ivver done a hands-turn i' your lives! Nay, ye're +waur nor my Aunt Kate! Come down to Aberford +an' I'll show ye summat! Come—it's a invitaation—I'll +see it doesn't cost ye nowt! T' lads is all working, +all but t' youngest, an' we're nooan wi'out! No, +we're nooan wi'out at our house! I'll interdewce ye +to t' missis, an' ye can help her to peel t' potates, an'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +ye can go down i' t' cage if ye like! Come, an' I'll +kill a pig, just for love. Come of a Sunda' dinner-time, +when t' beef's hot. Wilkinson knows what +I mean; he knows t' life; he reckons not to when +he's wi' his fine friends, but Wilkie's had to lie i' bed +while his shirt was being mended afore to-day!... +Nay, the hengments!" He broke into a jovial laugh. +"Ye know nowt about it, an' ye nivver will! These +'ere young pistills fro' t' Collidge—what are they +maalakin' at? It doesn't tak' five thousand pound +a year to learn a lad not to write a mucky word on a +wall!" (Here Dickie Lemesurier turned her back +on the speaker).... "They want to get back to +their Collidges. T' gap's ower wide. They'll get +lost o' t' road. Same as him 'at wrote t' book about +t' pop-shop——," again Mr. Crabtree's forefinger was +levelled between Mr. Brimby's eyes. "Brimbyin' +about, an' they don't know a black puddin' from a +Penny Duck! Has he ivver had to creep up again t' +chimley-wall to keep himself warm i' bed, or to pull +t' kitchen blinds down while he washed himself of +a Saturda' afternooin? But ye can all come an' +see if ye like. We've had to tew for it, but we're +nooan wi'out now. An' I'll show ye a bit o' sport +too. We all have we'r whippets, an' we can clock +t' pigeons in, an' see what sort of a bat these young +maisters can mak' at knurr-an'-spell—eighteen-and-a-half +score my youngest lad does! Ay, we enjoy +we'rsens! An' there's quoits an' all. Eighteen +yards is my distance if onnybody wants to laake for +a beast's-heart supper! Come—ding it, t' lot o' ye +come! We can sleep fower o' ye, wed 'uns, heads<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +to tails, if ye don't mind all being i' t' little +cham'er——"</p> + +<p>But by this time Mr. Crabtree was having to +struggle to keep his audience. Mr. Brimby too had +turned away, and Mr. Wilkinson, and even Miss +Belchamber had spoken several words of her own +accord to the young Balliol boy. The tide of sound +began to rise again, so that once more Mr. Crabtree's +voice was only one among many. Then Walter +started forward with an "Ah, Amory!" and "Hallo, +Strong!" Mr. Raffinger of the McGrath exclaimed....</p> + +<p>"Perseverance Row, fower doors from t' 'Arabian +Horse'——," Mr. Crabtree bawled hospitably +through the hubbub....</p> + +<p>"Oh, you <i>must</i> see it—the New Greek Society, on +the seventeenth——"</p> + +<p>"But I say—what <i>is</i> 'Catching of Quails,' Miss +Belchamber——?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wilkinson brought him, I think——"</p> + +<p>"Fellow of All Souls, wasn't he?——"</p> + +<p>Then that genial Aberford man again:</p> + +<p>"I tell ye t' gap's ower wide, young man—ye'll get +lost o' t' road——"</p> + +<p>"No, the children take her name——"</p> + +<p>"Got a match, old fellow?——"</p> + +<p>"Rot, my dear chap!——"</p> + +<p>"But what <i>is</i> condonation if that isn't?——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, the ordinary brainless Army type——"</p> + +<p>"I read it in the German——"</p> + +<p>"They gained time by paying in pennies——"</p> + +<p>"In Père Lachaise——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, we can talk about it at suppertime——"</p> + +<p>"But with cheaper Divorce——"</p> + +<p>"One an' all—whenivver ye like—Eeali Crabtree, +Perseverance Row, Aberford, fower doors from t' +'Arabian Horse'——"</p> + +<p>"Nietzsche——"</p> + +<p>"Finot——"</p> + +<p>"Weininger——"</p> + +<p>"Wadham——"</p> + +<p>"Aberford——"</p> + +<p>"Rufty Tufty——"</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> + +<h2>VI</h2> + +<h3>THE SOUL STORM</h3> + + +<p>"I—say!——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Wasn't</i> he priceless!——"</p> + +<p>"You got his address, Cosimo? I <i>must</i> cultivate +him!——"</p> + +<p>"Pure delight!——"</p> + +<p>"You had come in, hadn't you, Amory?——"</p> + +<p>"He <i>shot</i> Brimby!——"</p> + +<p>"To all intents and purposes—with his finger——"</p> + +<p>"Can you do his accent, Walter?——"</p> + +<p>"I will in a week, or perish——"</p> + +<p>"His bath in the kitchen!——"</p> + +<p>"T' wed 'uns can sleep i' t' little chamber——"</p> + +<p>"No—he didn't sound the 'b' in 'chamber,' and +there were at least three 'a's' in it——"</p> + +<p>"'T' little chaaam'er'——"</p> + +<p>"No, you haven't quite got it——"</p> + +<p>"Give me a little time——"</p> + +<p>The party had dwindled to six—Cosimo and +Amory, the Wyrons, and Britomart Belchamber and +Mr. Strong. They were still in the studio, but they +were only waiting for the supper-gong to ring. +Cigarette ends were thickly strewn about the asbestos +log. The bandying of short ecstatic phrases had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +been between Walter and his wife, with Cosimo a +little less rapturously intervening; the subject of +them was, of course, Mr. Crabtree. To his general +harangue Mr. Crabtree had added, before leaving, +more particular words of advice, making a second +tour of the studio for the purpose; and he had +distinguished Walter above all the rest by inviting +him, not merely to the house four doors from the +"Arabian Horse," but to spend a warm afternoon +with him on Douglas Head also.</p> + +<p>But the Wyrons had these raptures pretty much to +themselves. Perhaps Cosimo was thinking of Mr. +Wilkinson, of some new paper of which he had never +heard, and of the assumption that he, apparently, +was to find the money for it. Miss Belchamber was +rarely rapturous, so that her silence was nothing out +of the way. Edgar Strong could be rapturous when +he chose, but he evidently didn't choose now. And +Amory had far too much on her mind.</p> + +<p>Her original idea in asking the Wyrons to stay to +supper had been that they, as acknowledged experts +in the subject that perplexed her, would be the +proper people to keep the ring while the four persons +immediately concerned talked the whole situation +quietly and reasonably and thoroughly out. But she +was rather inclined now to think again before submitting +her case to them. It would be so much +better, if the case must be submitted to anybody, +that Cosimo should do it. Then she herself would +be able to shape her course in the light of anything +that might turn up. Nothing, she had to admit, had +turned up yet, and Amory was not sure that in that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> +very fact there did not lie a sufficient cause for resentment. +Had Cosimo pleaded a passion for Britomart +Belchamber he would have had Passion's excuse. +Lacking Passion, it could only be concluded that he +was bored with Amory herself.</p> + +<p>And that amounted to an insult....</p> + +<p>The booming of the gong, however, cut short her +brooding. They passed to the dining-room. Britomart +and Walter sat with their backs to the tall black +dresser with the willow pattern stretching up almost +to the ceiling; Laura and Edgar took the German +chairs that had their backs to the copper-hooded +fireplace; and Cosimo and Amory occupied either +end of the highly-polished clothless table. This +absence of cloth, by the way, gave a church-like +appearance to the flames of the candles in the spidery +brass sticks that had each of them a ring at the top +to lift it up by; the preponderance of black oak +and dull black frames on the walls further added to +the effect of gloom; and the putting down of the +little green pipkins of soup and the moving of the +green-handled knives and round-bowled spoons +made little knockings from time to time.</p> + +<p>Again Walter and Laura, with not too much help +from Cosimo, sustained the weight of the conversation; +and it was not until Amory asked a question in a +tone from which rapture was markedly absent that +they sponged, as it were, the priceless memory of Mr. +Crabtree from their minds. Amory's question had +been about Walter's new Lecture, still in course of +preparation, on "<i>Post-Dated Passion</i>"; and Walter +cursorily ran over its heads for the general benefit.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I admit I got the idea from Balzac," he said +between mouthfuls (whenever they came to The Witan +the Wyrons supped almost as heartily as did Edgar +Strong himself). "'Comment l'amour revient aux +vieillards,' you know. But of course that hasn't +any earthly interest for anybody. 'Aux vieilles' it +ought to be. Then—well, then you've simply got 'em."</p> + +<p>"Why not 'vieillards?'" Amory asked, not very +genially.</p> + +<p>"I say, Cosimo, I'll have another cutlet if I may.—Why +not 'vieillards?' Quite obvious. Men aren't +the interest. I've tried men, and you can ask +Laura how the bookings went.—But 'vieilles' and +I've got 'em. Really, Amory, you're getting quite +dull if you don't see that! I'll explain. You see, +I've already got the younger ones, like Brit here—shove +the claret along, Brit—but the others, of forty +or fifty say, well, they've all had their affairs—or +if they haven't better still—and it's merely a question +of touching the right chord. Regrets, time they've +lost, fatal words 'Too late' and so on—it's simply +<i>made</i> for me! Touch the chord and they do +the rest for themselves. They probably won't hear +half of it for sobbing.—Of course I shall probably +have to modify my style a bit—not quite so—what +shall I say——"</p> + +<p>"Jaunty," his wife suggested, "—in the best +sense, I mean——"</p> + +<p>"Hm—that's not quite the word—but never +mind. It's a great field. Certainly women, not +men, are the draw."</p> + +<p>Amory made a rather petulant objection, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +argument lasted some minutes. In the end Walter +triumphantly gained his first point, that women +and not men were the "draw" in the box-office +sense, and also his second one, namely, that not the +Britomarts, but the older women, who would put +their hearts into his hands and pay him for exploiting +their helplessness and ache and tenderness and +regret, and never suspect that they were being +practised upon, were "simply made for him...."</p> + +<p>"What do you think of my title?" he asked.</p> + +<p>And the title was discussed.</p> + +<p>Amory was beginning to find Walter just a little +grasping. She wished that after all she had not +asked the Wyrons to stay to supper. Formerly she +had thought that marriage-escapade of theirs big +and heroic (that too, by the way, had been in the +Latin Quarter, and probably on seven francs a day); +but now she was less sure about that. Quite apart +from the inapplicability of the Wyrons' experience to +her own case, she now wondered whether theirs had +in fact been experience at all. Now that she came to +think of it, they had taken no risks. They <i>had</i> been +married, and in the last event could always turn +round on their critics and silence them with that +fact....</p> + +<p>Nor was she quite so ready now to lay even the +souls of Britomart and Cosimo on the dissecting-table +for the sake of seeing Walter exercise his +professional skill upon them. This was not so much +that she wanted to spare Cosimo and Britomart as +that she did not want to give Walter a gratification. +She was inclined to think that if Walter couldn't be a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +little more careful about contradicting her he might +find his advertisement omitted from the "Novum" +one week, as Katie Deedes' had been omitted, and +where would he be then? The way in which he +had just said that she was "getting quite dull" had +been next door to a rudeness....</p> + +<p>But she had to admit that she felt dull. Edgar, +who sat next to her, did not speak, and Cosimo, who +faced her, was apparently still brooding on people +who planned the spending of his money without +thinking it necessary to consult him first. She was +tired of the whole of the circumstances of her life. +Paris on seven francs a day could hardly be much +worse. Nor, if she could but shake off her lethargy, +need that sum be fixed as low as seven francs. For +she had lately remembered an arrangement made +between herself and Cosimo before she had ever +consented to become engaged to him. It was a long +time since either of them had spoken of this arrangement—so +long that Cosimo would have been almost +within his rights had he maintained that the circumstances +had so altered as to make it no longer binding; +but there it was, or had been, and it had never been +expressly revoked. It was the arrangement by +which they had set apart a fund to insure themselves, +either or both of them, against any evils that might +arise from incompatibility. Amory had no idea +how the matter now stood. She didn't suppose for +a moment that Cosimo had actually set a sum by +each week or month; but, hard and fast or loose +and fluid, he must have made, or be still ready to +make, some provision. It was an inherent part of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +contract that a solemn affirmation, with reason +shown (spiritual, not mere legal reason) by either +one or the other, should constitute a sufficient +claim on this fund.</p> + +<p>Therefore Paris need not necessarily be the worst +penury.</p> + +<p>But, for all her new inclination to leave the +Wyrons out of it, she still thought it a prudent idea +to carry the fight (not that there would be any +fight—that was only a low way of expressing the +high reasonableness that always prevailed at The +Witan) to Cosimo and Britomart, rather than to +have it centre about Edgar and herself. Walter's +eyes were mainly on the box-office nowadays. The +original virtue of that fine protest of theirs was—there +was no use in denying it—gone. He spread +his Lectures frankly now as a net. Well, that was +only one net more among the many nets of which +she was becoming conscious. Edgar too, poor boy, +was compelled to regard even the "Novum" as in +some manner a net. Mr. Brimby, Amory more +than guessed, had nets to spread. Mr. Wilkinson, +in his own way, was out for a catch; and Dickie +fished at the Suffrage Shop; and Katie had fished at +the Eden; and the only one who didn't fish was Mr. +Prang, who wrote his articles about India for nothing, +just to be practising his English.</p> + +<p>And all these nets were spread for somebody's +money—a good deal of it Cosimo's. It had been the +same, though perhaps not quite so bad, at Ludlow. +That experiment on the country-side had been +alarmingly costly. And all this did not include the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +dozens and dozens of nets of narrower mesh. The +"Novum" might gulp down money by the hundred, +but the lesser things were hardly less formidable in +the sum of them—subscriptions, contributions, gifts, +loans, investments, shares in the Eden and the Book +Shop, mortgages, second mortgages, subsidies, sums +to "tide over," backings, guarantees, losses cut, +more good money sent to bring back the bad, fresh +means of spending devised by somebody or other +almost every day. It had begun to weary even +Amory. The people who came to The Witan +became rather curiously better-dressed the longer +their visiting continued; but the things they +professed to hold dear appeared very little further +advanced. All that first brightness and promise +had gone. Amory's interest had gone. She wanted +to escape from it all, and to go away with Edgar +appeared once more to be the readiest way out.</p> + +<p>But, though she might now wish to keep Walter +Wyron out of it all, that did not necessarily mean +that Walter would be kept out. This <i>ex-officio</i> +specialist on the (preferably female) heart, this +professional rectifier of unfortunate marriages, had +not done a number of years' platform-work without +having discovered the peculiar beauties of the +<i>argumentum ad hominem</i>, and it was one of his +practices to enforce his arguments with "Take the +case of Brit here"—or "Let's get down to the concrete: +suppose Amory—" And these descents to the +particular had always a curiously accusatory effect. +Walter, interrupting Amory's meditation, broke into +one of them now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But my dear chap,"—this was to Cosimo,"—I +can't imagine what's come over all of you to-night! +First Amory, now you! You're usually quicker +than this! Let's take a case.—Brit here——"</p> + +<p>One sterno-mastoid majestically turned the caryatid's +head. Again Miss Belchamber's grand thorax +worked as if somebody had put a penny into the slot.</p> + +<p>"What?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Quiet, Brit; I'm only using you as an illustration.—Suppose +Brit here was to develop a passion for +somebody—Cosimo, say; yes, Cosimo'll do capitally; +awfully good instance of the cant that's commonly +talked about 'treachery' and 'under his own roof' +and all the rest of it—as if a roof wasn't a roof and +it hadn't got to be under somebody's—unless they +went out on the Heath!—Well, suppose it was to +happen to Cosimo and Brit; what then? We're +civilized, I hope. We're a little above the animals, I +venture to think. Amory wouldn't fly at Brit's +eyes, and Brit's father wouldn't come round with +a razor to cut Cosimo's throat. In fact——"</p> + +<p>"My fa-ther al-ways uses a safety-razor," said +Miss Belchamber with a reminiscent air.</p> + +<p>"Don't interrupt, Brit.—I was going to say that +the world's got past all that. Nor Brit wouldn't fly +at Amory, nor Cosimo kick the old josser out of the +house—though we should be much more ready to +condone that part of it if they did—if it was only +to get quits with the past a bit——"</p> + +<p>"My fa-ther's forty-five," Miss Belchamber +announced, as the interesting result of an interesting +mental process of computation. "Next June," she +added.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> + +<p>"More interruptions from the back of the hall.—In +fact, I'm not sure that <i>wouldn't</i> be entirely +defensible—Brit going for Amory and Cosimo +kicking the old dodderer out, I mean. That's the +justification of the <i>crime passionel</i>. It's the Will to +Live. And by Live I mean Love. It's the old saying, +that kissing lips have no conscience. Or Jove laughs +at lovers' oaths. Quite right. It's the New Greek +Spirit. But for all that we're modern and rational +about these things. If Strong here wanted to take +Laura from me I should simply say, 'All you've got +to do, my dear chap, is to table your reasons, and +if they're stronger than mine you take her.' See?"</p> + +<p>At that Edgar Strong, like Britomart, looked up. +He spoke for the first time.—"What's that you're +saying?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose you'd want her, but suppose +you did...."</p> + +<p>Mr. Strong dropped his eyes to his plate again.—"Ah, +yes," he said. "Ellen Key's got something +about that." And he relapsed into silence again.</p> + +<p>It sounded to Amory idiotic. Walter was so +evidently "trying" it on them in order to see how +it would go down with an audience afterwards. +She wouldn't have scratched Britomart's eyes out +for Cosimo,—but she coloured a little, and bit her +lip, at the thought that somebody might want to +come between herself and Edgar.... But perhaps +that was what Walter meant—real affinities, as +distinct from the ordinary vapid assumptions about +marriages being made in Heaven. If so, she agreed +with him—not that she was much fonder of him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +on that account. She wished he would keep his +personalities for Cosimo and Britomart, and leave +herself and Edgar alone.—Walter went on.</p> + +<p>"And then, when you've got your New Greek +Certificate, so to speak, it's plainly the duty of +everybody else, not to put obstacles in your way +and to threaten you with razors and cutting off +supplies, but to sink their personal feelings and to do +everything they can to help you. And without +snivelling either. I shouldn't snivel, I hope, if +anybody took Laura, and she wouldn't if anybody +took me——"</p> + +<p>Here Laura interposed softly.—"I don't want +any one to take you, dear," she said.</p> + +<p>Walter turned sharply.</p> + +<p>"Eh?... Now you've put me off my argument.... What +was I saying?... Haven't I +told you you must <i>never</i> do that, Laura?... +No, it's quite gone.... You see ..."</p> + +<p>Laura murmured that she was very sorry....</p> + +<p>"No, it's gone," said Walter, almost cheerfully, +as if not sorry that for once the worth of what he had +been about to say should be measured by the sense of +loss. "So since Laura wishes it I'll shut up."</p> + +<p>He passed up his plate for a second helping of trifle.</p> + +<p>By this time Amory was perhaps rather glad that +she had had the Wyrons after all. That about +people not putting obstacles in the way was quite +neat. "A plain duty," he had said. She hoped +Cosimo'd heard that, and would remember it when +she raised the subject of the fund. And so far was +she herself from putting obstacles in <i>his</i> way that,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> +although she could have sent Britomart Belchamber +packing with her wages at any moment, she had not +done so. That, as Walter had said, would only have +been another way of flying at her eyes.... Besides, +Amory had been far too deeply occupied to +formulate definitely her charges against Cosimo and +Britomart. For all she knew it might have gone +much, much further than she had thought. Sometimes, +when Amory took breakfast in her own room, +she did not see Cosimo until the evening, and +Britomart too had heaps of time on her hands when +she had finished with Corin and Bonniebell. Cosimo +must not tell her that the "<i>Life and Work</i>" occupied +him during every minute of his time....</p> + +<p>Then, presently, she was sorry again that the +Wyrons had been asked, for Walter had suddenly +remembered the thread of his discourse, and, in +continuing it, had been almost rude to Laura. +She wondered whether he would have turned with +a half angry "Why, what's the matter?" had Laura +cried. Perhaps it was really a good thing the +Wyrons hadn't any children, for this kind of thing +would certainly have been a bad example for them. +She herself was never rude to Cosimo before Corin +and Bonniebell. She was always markedly polite. +There were excuses to be made for Passion, but none +for rudeness.</p> + +<p>By this time Edgar Strong had finished his last +piece of cheese and was wiping his lips with his +napkin. Then he looked at his watch, and for the +second time during the course of the meal spoke.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Cosimo, I've got to be off presently,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> +and we haven't settled about those advertisements +yet. And there's something else I want to say to +you too. Could we hurry coffee up? Where do +we have it? In the studio, I suppose? Or do +the others go into the studio and you and Walter +and I have ours here?"</p> + +<p>"We might as well all go into the studio," said +Cosimo, rising; and they left the sombre room +and sought the studio, all except Miss Belchamber, +who went upstairs.</p> + +<p>The sight of the innumerable cigarette-ends about +the asbestos log reminded Walter of Mr. Crabtree +again; and for a minute or two—that is to say +during the time that Walter, taking her aside, told her +of the quiet but penetrating side-light Mr. Crabtree +had innocently shed on Mr. Wilkinson's scheme +for some new paper or other that Cosimo +was to finance—Amory was once more glad that the +Wyrons had come. But the next moment, as Walter +loitered away and Laura came and sat softly down +beside her, she was sorry again. Laura was gently +crying. That struck Amory as stupid. As if she +hadn't enough great troubles of her own, without +burdening herself with the Wyrons' trivial ones!</p> + +<p>So, as she had nothing really helpful to say to +Laura, she left her, and sat down on the footstool she +had occupied on the day when Edgar Strong had +said that he liked the casts and had asked her whether +she had read something or other—she forgot what.</p> + +<p>Edgar was talking in low tones to Cosimo, and +Amory thought she heard the name of Mr. Prang. +Then Cosimo, who always thought more Imperially<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +with a map before him, got out the large atlas, and +the two of them bent over it together. Walter +joined them, and, after an interlude that appeared +to be about the Lectures' advertisement, Walter +strolled away again and joined Laura. Amory +heard an "Eh?" and a moment later the word +"touchy," and Walter went off to the window with +his hands in the pockets of his knickers, whistling. +Edgar took not the least notice of Amory's eyes +intently fixed upon him. He continued to talk to +Cosimo. Walter, who was examining a Japanese +print, called over his shoulder, "This a new one, +Amory? What is it—Utamaro?" Then he walked +up to where Laura sat again. He was speaking in +an undertone to her: "Rubbish ... take on like +that ... better clear off then"; and a moment +later, seeing Edgar Strong buttoning up his coat, +he called out, "Wait a minute, Strong—we're going +down too—get your hat, Laura——"</p> + +<p>Five minutes later Cosimo Pratt and his wife +were alone.</p> + +<p>It was the first time they had been so for nearly a +fortnight. Indeed, for weeks the departure of the +last visitor had been the signal for their own good-night, +Cosimo going his way, she hers. There had +never been anything even remotely approaching a +"scene" to account for this. It had merely happened +so.</p> + +<p>Therefore, finding himself alone with his wife in +the studio again, Cosimo yawned and stretched his +arms above his head.</p> + +<p>"Ah-h-h!... You going to bed?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> + +<p>As he would hardly be likely to take himself off +before she had answered his question, Amory did not +reply at once. She sat down on the footstool and +stretched her hands out to the asbestos log. Then, +after a minute, and without looking up, she broke +one of their tacitly accepted rules by asking a direct +question.</p> + +<p>"What were you and Edgar Strong discussing?" +she asked.</p> + +<p>He yawned again.—"Oh, the Bookshop advertisement—and +advertisements generally. It begins +to look as if we should have to be less exclusive +about these things. Strong tells me that it's unheard-of +for a paper to refuse any advertisement it can get."</p> + +<p>"I mean when you got out the atlas."</p> + +<p>"Oh—India, of course. The Indian policy. +Strong isn't altogether satisfied about Prang. He +seems to think he might get us into trouble."</p> + +<p>"How? Why?" Amory said, her eyes reflectively +on the purring gas-jets.</p> + +<p>"Can't make out. Some fancy of his. The policy +hasn't changed, and Prang hasn't changed. I +wonder whether Wilkinson's right when he says +Strong's put his hand to the plough but is now ... +<i>ah!</i> That reminds me!—Were you here when that +preposterous fellow—what's his name—Crabtree—rather +let the cat out of the bag about Wilkinson?"</p> + +<p>"You mean about another paper? No. But +Walter said something about it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, by Jove! He seems to have it all cut-and-dried! +Crabtree seems to think I knew all about it. +Of course I did know that Wilkinson had a scheme,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> +but I'd no idea he was jumping ahead at that rate. I +don't want two papers. One's getting rather serious."</p> + +<p>Still without looking at her husband, Amory said, +"How, serious?"</p> + +<p>"Why, the expense. I'm not sure that we didn't +take the wrong line about the advertisements. +Anyway, something will have to be done. Thirty +pounds a week is getting too stiff. I'm seriously +thinking of selling out from the Eden and the +Bookshop. Do you know that with one thing and +another we're down more than three thousand +pounds this year?"</p> + +<p>Amory was surprised; but she realized instinctively +that that was not the moment to show her surprise. +Were she to show it, the moment would not be +opportune for the raising of the subject of the fund, +and she wanted to raise that subject. And she +wanted to raise it in connexion with Cosimo and +Britomart Belchamber. She continued to gaze at +the log. The servants, she thought, might have +taken the opportunity of dinner to sweep up the +litter of cigarette-ends that surrounded it; and +then she had a momentary fancy. It was, that the +domestic relations that existed between herself and +Cosimo were a thing that, like that mechanical +substitute for a more generous fire, could be turned +off and on as it were by the mere touching of a tap. +She wondered what made her think of that....</p> + +<p>Cosimo had taken out his penknife and was +scraping his nails, moodily running over items of +disbursement as he scraped; and then the silence +fell between them again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was Amory who broke it, and in doing so she +turned her head for the first time. She gave her +husband a look that meant that, though he might +talk about expenses, she also had a subject.</p> + +<p>"Walter was excessively stupid to-night," she +said abruptly.</p> + +<p>He said "Oh?" and went on scraping.</p> + +<p>"At the best he's never a model of tact, but I +thought he rather overstepped the mark at dinner."</p> + +<p>Again he said "Oh?" and added, "What about?"</p> + +<p>"His manners. His ideas are all right, I suppose, +but I'm getting rather tired of his platform-tricks."</p> + +<p>"His habit of illustration and so on?"</p> + +<p>"And his want of tact generally. In fact I'm +not sure it isn't more than that. In a strange house +it would have been simply a <i>faux pas</i>, but he knows +us well enough, and the arrangement between us. +He might at any rate wait till he's called in."</p> + +<p>Cosimo started on another nail.—"What arrangement?" +he said.</p> + +<p>Again Amory gave him that look that might +have told him that, though he might think that only +a lot of money had gone, she knew that something +far more vital had gone with it.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that you didn't hear what he was +saying about you and Britomart Belchamber?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I heard that, of course. Of course I heard +it."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Well!"</p> + +<p>And this time their eyes met in a long look....</p> + +<p>Cosimo had only himself to thank for what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> +happened to him then. After all, you cannot watch +a superb piece of female mechanism playing "Catching +of Quails," and openly admire the way in which +it can shut up like a clasp-knife and fold itself upon +itself like a multiple lever, and pretend to be half in +love with it lest sharp eyes should see that you are +actually half in love with it, and take it for walks, +and discuss Walter's Lectures with it, and tell it +frequently how different things might have been had +you been ten years younger, and warn it to be a good +girl because of dangerous young men, and stroke +its hair, and tell it what beautiful eyes it has, and +kiss its hand from time to time, and walk with your +arm protectingly about its waist, and so on and so +forth, day after day—you cannot, after all, do these +things and be entirely unflurried when your ever-so-slightly +tiresome wife reminds you that, be it only +by way of illustration, a young expert in such +matters has coupled your name with that of the +passive object of your philanderings. Nor can +you reasonably be surprised when that wife gives +you a long look, that doesn't reproach you for anything +except for your stupidity or hypocrisy if you +pretend not to understand, and then resumes her +meditative gazing into a patent asbestos fire. Appearances +<i>are</i> for the moment against you. You +can<i>not</i> help for one moment seeing it as it must have +appeared all the time to somebody else. Of course +you know that you are in the right really, and the +other person entirely wrong, and that with a little +reasonableness on that other person's part you could +make this perfectly clear; but you <i>are</i> rather<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> +trapped, you know it, and the state of mind in which +you find yourself is called by people who aren't +anybody in particular "flurry."</p> + +<p>Which is perhaps rather a long way of saying that +Cosimo was suddenly and entirely disconcerted.</p> + +<p>And his flurry included a certain crossness and +impatience with Amory. She was—could be—only +pretending. She knew perfectly well that there was +nothing really. The least exercise of her imagination +must have told her that to press Britomart Belchamber's +hand, for example, was the most innocent +of creature-comforts. Why, he had pressed it +with Amory herself there; he had said, jokingly, +and Amory had heard him, that it was a desirable hand +to press, and he had pressed it. And so with +Britomart's dancing of "Rufty Tufty." Amory, +who, like Cosimo, had had an artist's training, ought +to be the last person to deny that any eye so trained +did not see a hundred beauties where eyes uneducated +saw one only. And that of course meant chaste +beauties. Such admiration was an exercise in +analysis, not in amorousness.... No, it was +far more likely that Amory was getting at him. +She was smiling, a melancholy and indifferent little +smile, at the asbestos log. She had no right to smile +like that. It made him feel beastly. It made him +so that he didn't know what to say....</p> + +<p>But she continued to smile, and when Cosimo did +at last speak he hated himself for stammering.</p> + +<p>"But—but—but—oh, come, Amory, this <i>is</i> +absurd! You're—you're tired! Me and Britomart! +Oh, c-c-come!——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p> + +<p>And then it occurred to him that this was a +ridiculous answer, and that the proper answer to +have made would have been simply to laugh. He +did laugh.</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha, ha! By Jove, for the moment you +almost took me in! You really did get a rise out of +me that time! Congratulations.—And I admit it +is rather cool of Walter to pounce on the first name +that occurs to him and make use of it in that way. +Deuced cool when you come to think of it. It seems +to me——"</p> + +<p>But again that quite calm and unreproaching +look silenced him. There was a loftiness and +serenity about it that reminded him of the Amory of +four or five years before. And she spoke almost +with a note of wonder at him in her tone.</p> + +<p>"My dear Cosimo," she said very patiently, +"what is the matter? You look at me as if I had +accused you of something. Nothing was further +from my thoughts. I suppose, when you examine +it, it's a matter for congratulation, not accusation +at all. As Walter said, I don't want to fly at +anybody's eyes. We foresaw this, and provided +for it, you know."</p> + +<p>At this cool taking for granted of a preposterous +thing Cosimo's stammer became a splutter.—"But—but—but—," +he broke out: but Amory held up +her hand.</p> + +<p>"I raise no objection. I've no right to. What +earthly right have I, when I concurred before ever +we were married?"</p> + +<p>"Concurred!... My dear girl, concurred in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +what? Really this is the most ridiculous situation +I was ever in!"</p> + +<p>Amory raised her brows.—"Oh?... I don't +see anything ridiculous about it. It received my +sanction when Britomart stopped in the house, and +I haven't changed my mind. As I say, we foresaw +it, and provided for it."</p> + +<p>"'It!'" Cosimo could only pipe—one little +note, high and thin as that of a piccolo. Amory +continued.</p> + +<p>"I'm not asking a single question about it. I'm +not even curious. I didn't become your property +when we married, and you're not mine. Our souls +are our own, both of us. I think we were very wise +to foresee it quite at the beginning.—And don't +think I'm jealous. Perfectly truly, I wish you every +happiness. Britomart's a very pretty girl, and +nobody can say she's always making a display of her +cleverness, like some of them. I respect your +privacy, and want you to do the best you can with +your life."</p> + +<p>The piccolo note changed to that of a bassoon.—"Amory—listen +to me."</p> + +<p>"No. I'd <i>very</i> much rather not hear anything +about it. As Walter said, Life <i>is</i> Love, and I only +mentioned this at all to-night because there is one +quite small practical detail that doesn't seem to me +entirely satisfactory."</p> + +<p>She understood Cosimo to ask what that was.</p> + +<p>"This: You ought to be fair to her. I know +you'll forgive my mentioning anything so vulgar, +but it is—about money. She can't be expected to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +think of such things herself just now,"—there were +whole honeymoons in the reasonable little nod +Amory gave,"—and so <i>I</i> mention it. It's my place +to do so. For us all just to dip our hands into a +common purse doesn't seem to me very satisfactory. +She's rights too that I shouldn't dream of disputing. +And don't think I'm assuming more than there +actually is. I only mean that I don't see why, in +certain events, you shouldn't, et cetera; that's +all I mean. You see?... But I admit that for +everybody's sake I should like things put on a +proper footing without loss of time."</p> + +<p>Cosimo had begun to wander up and down among +the saddlebag chairs. His slender fingers rested +aimlessly on the backs of them from time to time. +Amory thought that he was about to try the remaining +notes within the compass of his voice, but instead +he suddenly straightened himself. He appeared to +have come to a resolution. He strode towards the +door.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?" Amory asked.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to fetch Britomart," he replied +shortly. "This is preposterous."</p> + +<p>But again he hesitated, as perhaps Amory surmised +he might. His offer, if it meant anything, ought to +have meant that his conscience was so clear that +Amory might catechize Britomart to her heart's +content; but there <i>had</i> been those hair-strokings +and hand-pattings, and—and—and Britomart, as +Amory had said, was "not always making a display +of her cleverness." She might, indeed, let fall +something even more disconcerting than the rest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>Cosimo was trying a bluff—</p> + +<p>In a word, between fetching Britomart and not +fetching her, Amory had her husband by the short +hairs.</p> + +<p>She mused.—"Just a moment," she said.</p> + +<p>And then she rose from the footstool, put one +hand on the edge of the mantelpiece, and with the +other drew up her skirt an inch or two and stretched +out her slipper to the log.</p> + +<p>"It really isn't necessary to fetch Britomart," she +said after a moment, looking up. "Fetch her if you +prefer it, of course, but first I want to say something +else—something quite different."</p> + +<p>That it was something quite different seemed to be +a deep relief to Cosimo. He returned from the door +again.</p> + +<p>"What's that?" he said.</p> + +<p>"It's different," Amory said slowly, "but +related. Let me think a moment how to put it.... +You were speaking a few minutes ago of selling out +from the Eden and the Suffrage Shop. If I understand +you, things aren't going altogether well."</p> + +<p>"They aren't," said Cosimo, almost grimly.</p> + +<p>"And then," Amory continued, "there's Mr. +Prang. Neither you nor Strong seem very satisfied +about him."</p> + +<p>"It's Strong who isn't satisfied. I've no +complaints to make about Prang."</p> + +<p>"Well, I've been thinking about that too, and I've +had an idea. I'm not sure that after all Strong +mayn't be right. I admit Prang states a case as +well as it could be stated; the question is whether<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> +it's quite the case we <i>want</i> stated. His case is ours +to a large extent, but perhaps not altogether. And +as matters stand we're in his hands about India, +simply because he knows more about it than we +do. You see what I mean?"</p> + +<p>"Not quite," said Cosimo.</p> + +<p>"No? Well, let me tell you what I've been +thinking...."</p> + +<p>Those people who are nobodys, and have not had +the enormous advantage of being taken by the hand +by the somebodys, are under a misconception about +daring and original ideas. The ideas seem original +and daring to them because the processes behind +them are hidden. The inferior mind does not realize +of itself that every sudden and miraculous blooming +is already an old story to somebody.</p> + +<p>But Cosimo occupied a sort of intermediary +position between the sources of inspiration and the +flat levels of popular understanding. Remember, +he was in certain ways one of the public; but at +the same time he was the author of the "<i>Life and +Work</i>." He took his Amory, so to speak, nascent. +Therefore, when she gave utterance to a splendour, +he credited himself with just that measure of participation +in it that causes us humbler ones, when we +see the airman's spiral, to fancy our own hands +upon the controls, or, when we read a great book, +to sun ourselves in the flattering delusion that we +do not merely read, but, in some mysterious sense, +participate in the writing of it also.</p> + +<p>And so the words which Amory spoke now—words +which would have caused you or me to give a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +gasp of admiration—affected him less extraordinarily.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you go to India and see for yourself?" +she said.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, Cosimo was not altogether unaffected. +Even to his accustomed ear it was rather stupendous, +and, if he hadn't been again uneasily wondering +whether he dared risk having Britomart down +when Amory should return to the former subject +again, might have been more stupendous still. He +resumed his walk along the saddlebag chairs, and, +when at last he did speak, did not mar a high occasion +with too much vulgar demonstrativeness.</p> + +<p>"That's an idea," he said simply.</p> + +<p>"You see, Mr. Chamberlain went to South +Africa," Amory replied, as simply.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Cosimo thoughtfully.... "It's +certainly an idea."</p> + +<p>"And you know how people have been getting +at the 'Novum' lately, and even suggesting that +Prang was merely a pen-name for Wilkinson himself."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes."</p> + +<p>"Well, if you went, for six months, say, or even +three, nobody'd be able to say after that that you +didn't know all about it."</p> + +<p>"No," Cosimo replied.</p> + +<p>"The stupid people go. Why not the people +with eyes and minds?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly," said Cosimo, resuming his walk.</p> + +<p>Then, as if he had been a mere you or a simple +me, the beauty of the idea did begin to work a little +in him. He walked for a space longer, and then,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +turning, said almost with joy, "I say, Amory—would +you <i>like</i> to go?"</p> + +<p>But Amory did not look up from the slippered +foot she had again begun to warm.—"Oh, I shouldn't +go," she said absently.</p> + +<p>"You mean me to go by myself?" said Cosimo, +the joy vanishing again.</p> + +<p>Then it was that Amory returned to the temporarily +relinquished subject again.</p> + +<p>"Well ...," she said, with a return of the quiet +and wan but brave smile, "... I've nothing to +do with that. I shouldn't set detectives to watch +you. I was speaking for the moment purely from +the point of view of the 'Novum's' policy.—But +I see what you mean."</p> + +<p>But Cosimo didn't mean that at all. He interposed +eagerly, anxiously.</p> + +<p>"You <i>do</i> jump to conclusions!"—he began.</p> + +<p>"My <i>dear</i> Cosimo," she put up her hand, "I'm +doing nothing of the kind. As I said, the other +isn't my affair. Oh, I do wish you'd believe that I +was perfectly calm about it! As Emerson said, soul +ought to speak to soul from the top of Olympus or +something, and, except that I want you to be +happy, it's a matter of indifference to me who you go +with. Do try to see that, Cosimo. Let's try to +behave like civilized beings. We agreed long ago +that sex was only a matter of accident. Don't let's +make it so hatefully pivotal. After all, what practical +difference would it make?"</p> + +<p>But this was too much for Cosimo. He must +have Britomart down and take his chance, that was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> +all. At the worst, he did not see how Amory could +be so unreasonable that a hand-pat or a hair-stroke +or two could not be put before her in the +proper light.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately, the trouble was, not that she made +a fuss, but that she made so little fuss....</p> + +<p>Again he moved towards the door.</p> + +<p>But Miss Belchamber herself, as it happened, saved +him the trouble of fetching her. Their hands were +at the door at the same moment, his inside, hers +outside. She entered. She was wrapped in the +large black-and-gold Chinese dressing-gown Cosimo +had given her for a Christmas present, and there +were pantofles on her bare feet, and her hair hung +down her back in two enormous yellow plaits. +She was eating a large piece of cake.</p> + +<p>"I've left the hot water tap running," she announced. +"I hadn't gone to bed. Does anybody +else want a bath? I like lots of hot baths. I +came down for a piece of cake."</p> + +<p>She crossed to the sofa, crammed the last piece +of cake into her mouth, dusted the crumbs from +her fingers, tucked the dressing-gown close under +her, and with her fingers began softly to perform the +motions of <i>pétrissage</i> upon herself in the region of the +<i>erectors spinae</i>. As she did so she again spoke, +placidly and syllabically.</p> + +<p>"I made a mistake," she said. "Father's +forty-six. Next June. And I shall go to Walter's +new Lecture. He's in the guard's van. I mean the +van-guard. And Prince Ead-mond's is in the +van-guard too. Especially Miss Miles. She says<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> +the Saturn-alia is a time of great li-cen-tiousness and +dancing. Are they going to start it soon?"</p> + +<p>Cosimo was nervous again. He cleared his +throat.—"Britomart—," he began; but Miss Belchamber +went on.</p> + +<p>"I hope they are. Walter says it would be a very +good thing. I shall dance 'Rufty Tufty.' And 'The +Black Nag.' I love 'The Black Nag.' That's +why I'm having a hot bath. Hot baths open the +pores, or sweat-ducts. Then you close them again +with a cold sponge. I always close them again +with a cold sponge."</p> + +<p>Cosimo cleared his throat again and had another +try.—"Listen, Britomart—we were talking about +you——"</p> + +<p>Miss Belchamber looked complacently at her +crossed Parian-marble ankles. Then she raised +one of them, and her fingers explored the common +tendon of the soleus and gastrocnemius.</p> + +<p>"The soleus," she said, "acts when the knee-joint +is flexed. In 'Rufty Tufty' it acts. Both of +them, of course. And the manage-ment of the +breath is very im-portant. It would be a very good +thing if every-body opened their windows and took +a hun-dred deep breaths before the Saturn-alia +begins. I shall, and I shall make Corin and Bonniebell. +Or won't they be able to go if it's very late? +If it's after their bedtime I could bring them away +early and then go back. I am so looking forward to +it."</p> + +<p>Cosimo made a third attempt.—"Britomart—", +he said gravely.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What?" said Miss Belchamber.</p> + +<p>"I want to tell you about a rather important +discussion we've been having——"</p> + +<p>"Then shall I go and turn the tap off? The +water will run cold. Then the sweat-ducts would +have to be closed before they are opened, and that's +wrong."</p> + +<p>But this time Amory had moved towards the door. +Cosimo, and not she, had wanted Miss Belchamber +down, and now that he had got her he might amuse +her. She thought he looked extremely foolish, but +that was his look-out; she was going to bed. It +seemed an entirely satisfactory moment in which to +do so. She had managed better than she had hoped. +The question of the fund had been satisfactorily +raised, and it was obvious that the "Novum" +would gain by having somebody on the spot, somebody +perhaps less biassed than Mr. Prang, to +advise upon its Indian policy. At the door she +turned her nasturtium-coloured head.</p> + +<p>"You might think over what I've been saying," +she said. "We can talk of it again in a day or two. +Especially my second suggestion, that about the +'Novum.' That seems to me very well worth +considering. Good night."</p> + +<p>And she passed out, leaving Cosimo plucking his +lip irresolutely, and Miss Britomart Belchamber +deeply interested in the common tendon of the other +soleus and gastrocnemius.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> + +<h2>Part III</h2> + + + +<h2>I</h2> + +<h3>LITMUS</h3> + + +<p>It was on an afternoon in May, and the window +of Dorothy's flat overlooking the pond was wide +open. Ruffles of wind chased one another from +moment to moment across the water, and the swans, +guarding their cygnets, policed the farther bank, +where dogs ran barking. The two elder Bits played +in the narrow strip of garden below; again the frieze +of the room was a soft net of rippling light; and the +brightness of the sun—or so Ruth Mossop declared—had +put the fire out.</p> + +<p>Ruth was alone in the flat. As she passed between +the pond-room and the kitchen, re-lighting the fire, +"sweeping in," and preparing tea, she sang cheerfully +to herself "<i>A few more years shall roll, a few more +sorrows come</i>." Ruth considered that the sorrows +would probably come by means of the youngest +Bit. He ought (she said) to have been a little girl. +Then, in after years, he might have been a bit of +comfort to his mother. Boys, in Ruth's experience, +were rarely that.</p> + +<p>As she put the cakes for tea into the oven of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> +stove there came a milk-call from below. Ruth +leaned out of the lift-window, and there ensued a +conversation with the white-jacketed milk-boy.</p> + +<p>"Saw your guv'nor last night," the boy grinned.</p> + +<p>"Where's that cream I ordered, and that quart +of nursery milk? You can't mind your business +for thinking of picture palaces."</p> + +<p>"Keep your 'air on; coming up now.—I say, they +put 'is 'ead under a steam-'ammer. I said it was a +dummy, but Gwen said it wasn't. <i>Was</i> it 'im?"</p> + +<p>"You mind your own interference, young man, +and leave others to mind theirs; you ought to have +something better to do with your threepences than +collecting cigarette cards and taking girls to the +pictures."</p> + +<p>"It was in '<i>Bullseye Bill: A Drarmer of Love +an' 'Ate</i>'—'Scoundrel, 'ow dare you speak those +words to a pure wife an' mother on the very threshold +of the 'Ouse of——'"</p> + +<p>"That's enough, young man—we don't want +language Taken in Vain here—and you can tell 'em +at your place we're leaving soon."</p> + +<p>"But <i>was</i> that 'im in the long whiskers at the +end, when the powder magazine blew up?"</p> + +<p>But Ruth, taking her cans, shut down the window +and returned to the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"'Then O, my Lord, prepare——'" she crooned +as she gave a peep into the oven and then clanged the +door to again, "'My soul for that blest day——'"</p> + +<p>They were leaving soon. Already the sub-letting +of the flat was in an agent's hands, and soon Stan +would be braving the perils of his career no longer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +Dorothy had unfolded her idea to her aunt, and Lady +Tasker had raised no objection, provided Dorothy +could raise the money by bringing Aunt Eliza into +line.</p> + +<p>"It's as good as Maypoles and Village Players +anyway," she had said, "and I'm getting too old to +run about as I have done.—By the way, is it true +that Cosimo Pratt's gone to India?"</p> + +<p>Dorothy had replied that it was true.</p> + +<p>"Hm! What for? To dance round another +Maypole?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, auntie. I've seen very little of +them."</p> + +<p>"Has she gone?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"No more babies yet, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Well ... you'd better see your Aunt Eliza. +She's got all the money that's left.—But I don't +see how you're going to get any very much out of +Tony and Tim."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll see they don't impose on me as they've +been imposing on you!... So I may move that +billiard-table, and alter the gun-room?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, if you pay for it."</p> + +<p>"Thanks—you are a dear!..."</p> + +<p>By what arts Dorothy had contrived to lay Aunt +Eliza under contribution doesn't matter very much +here. Among themselves the Lennards and Taskers +might quarrel, but they presented an unbroken front +to the world—and Dorothy, for Aunt Eliza's special +benefit, managed to make the world in some degree<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> +a party to her project. That is to say, that a paragraph +had appeared in certain newspapers, announcing +that an experiment of considerable interest, etc., +the expenses of which were already guaranteed, and +so forth, was about to be tried in the County of +Shropshire, where "The Brear," the residence of +the late Sir Noel Tasker, was already in course of +alteration. And so on, in Dorothy's opinion, +neither too much nor too little for her design.... +It had been a public committance of the family, and it +had worked the oracle with Aunt Eliza. Rather than +have a public squabble about it, she had come in +with her thousand, the work was now well advanced, +and the venerable sinner who had recited the poems +printed by Cosimo Pratt's Village Press was in +charge of the job. Dorothy, hurriedly weaning the +youngest Bit, had run down to Ludlow for the +express purpose of announcing to him that it was +a job, and not an aesthetic jollification.</p> + +<p>Moreover, at that time she had half a hundred +other matters to attend to; for Stan, escaping from +powder-magazines as the last inch of fuse sputtered, +and fervently hoping that the man had made no +mistake about the length of stroke of the Nasmyth +hammer under which he put his devoted head, +could give her little help. Besides her own approaching +<i>déménagement</i>, she had much of the care of that +of her aunt. As Stan's earnings were barely sufficient +for the current expenses of the household, she +still had to turn to odds and ends of her old advertisement +work. She had—Quis custodiet?—the +nurse to look after, and the tradesmen, and letters,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> +and callers, and Ruth. In short, a simple inversion +of her aunt's dictum about the Pratts—"Too much +money and not enough to do"—would have fitted +Dorothy's case to a nicety.</p> + +<p>Therefore, as another burden more or less would +make little difference to one already so burdened, +Dorothy had added still further to her cares. Ever +since that day when Lady Tasker had come bareheaded +out of her house and had spoken to Amory +Pratt outside the Victoria and Albert Museum, Dorothy +had had her sometime friend constantly on her +mind. She had spoken of her to her aunt, who had +again shown herself deplorably illiberal and incisive.</p> + +<p>"I don't pretend to understand the modern young +woman," she had remarked carelessly. "Half of +'em seem to upset their bodies with too much study, +and the other half to play hockey till they're little +better than fools. I suppose it's all right, and that +somebody knows what they're about.... I often +wonder what they'd have done, though, if it hadn't +been for Sappho and Madame Curie.... By the +way," she had gone irrelevantly on without a +break, "does she <i>want</i> any more children besides +those twins?"...</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, Dorothy had had Amory so much on +her mind that twice since Cosimo's departure for +India she had been up to The Witan in search of her. +After all, if anybody was to blame for anything it +was Cosimo. But on neither occasion had Amory +been at home. Dorothy had left messages, to which +she had received no reply; and so she had gone a +third time—had gone, as it happened, on that very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> +afternoon when Ruth sang "A few more years shall +roll" as she made the hot cakes for tea. This time +she had persuaded Katie Deedes to come with her—for +Katie had left the Eden, was out of a job, and +for the time being had afternoon hours to spare.</p> + +<p>But again they had failed to find Amory, and +Dorothy and Katie took a turn round the Heath +before returning to the flat for tea. As they walked +along the hawthorn hedge that runs towards Parliament +Hill and South Hill Park they talked. Kites +were flying on the Hill; the Highgate Woods and +the white spire showed like a pale pastel in the +Spring sunshine; and from the prows of a score of +prams growing babies leaned out like the figureheads +of ships.</p> + +<p>"That's where Billie was born," said Dorothy, +nodding towards the backs of the houses that make +the loop of South Hill Park.</p> + +<p>Katie only said "Oh?" She too had caught +the uneasiness about Amory. And what Katie +thought was very soon communicated.</p> + +<p>"You see, Dot," she broke suddenly out, "you've +no idea of what a—what a funny lot they are really.... +No, I haven't told you—I haven't told you +<i>half</i>! It's everything they do. Why, the nurse +practised for months and months at a school where +they washed a celluloid baby—I'm not joking—she +did—a life-sized one—they did it in class, and +dressed it, and put it to sleep—as if <i>that</i> would be +any good at all with a real one!... And really—I'm +not prudish, as you know, Dot—but the way +they used to sit about, in a dressing-gown or a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +nightgown or anything—I don't mean when there +was a <i>big</i> crowd there, of course, but just a few of +them—Walter, and Mr. Brimby, and Edgar Strong—and +all of them going quite red in the face with +puremindedness! At any rate, I never did think +<i>that</i> was quite the thing!"</p> + +<p>She spoke with great satisfaction of the point of +the New Law she had not broken. It seemed to +make up for those she had.</p> + +<p>"And those casts and paintings and things about—it's +all right being an artist, of course, but if I +ever got married, <i>I</i> shouldn't like casts and paintings +of me about for everybody to see like that!——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, just look at that hawthorn!" Dorothy +interrupted.</p> + +<p>"Yes, lovely.—And Walter talking about Dionysus, +and what Lycurgus thought would be a very +good way of preventing jealousy, and a lot more +about Greeks and Romans and Patagonians and +Esquimaux! Do you know, Dot, I don't believe +they know anything at all about it—not <i>really</i> +know, I mean! I don't see how they can! One +man might know a little bit about a part of it, and +another man a little bit about another part—and +that would be rather a lot, seeing how long ago it +all is—but Walter knows it <i>all</i>! At any rate +nobody can contradict him. But what does it +matter to us to-day, Dorothy? What <i>does</i> it +matter?... Of course I don't mean they're +wicked. But—but—in some ways I can't help +thinking it would be better to <i>be</i> wicked as long as +you didn't say anything about it——!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't think they're wicked," said Dorothy +placidly. But the 'vert went eagerly on.</p> + +<p>"That's just it!" she expounded. "Walter +says 'wicked's' only a relative term. If you face +the truth boldly, all the time, lots of things +wouldn't be wicked at all, he says. And I believe +he's really awfully devoted to Laura—in his way—though +he does talk about these things with Britomart +Belchamber sitting there in her nightgown. +But it's always the <i>same bit</i> of truth they face boldly. +They never think of going in for astronomy—or +crystal-what-is-it—crystallography—or something +chilly—and face that boldly——"</p> + +<p>Dorothy laughed.—"You absurd girl!"</p> + +<p>"—but no. It's always whether people wear +clothes because they're modest or whether they're +modest because they wear clothes, or something like +that.—And Walter begins it—and then Laura +chimes in, and then Cosimo, and then Amory, and +then Dickie—and when they've said it all on Monday +they say it again on Tuesday, and Wednesday, and +every day—and I don't know what they've decided +even yet——"</p> + +<p>"Well, here we are," Dorothy said as she reached +her own door. "Let's have some tea.... Mr. +Miller hasn't been in yet, has he, Ruth?"</p> + +<p>"No, m'm."</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll have tea now, and you can make some +fresh when he comes. And keep some cakes hot."</p> + +<p>Mr. Miller's visit that afternoon had to do with a +care so trifling that Dorothy merely took it in her +stride. She had not found—she knew that she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> +would never find—the "Idee" that Mr. Miller +wanted; but if no Idees except real ones were ever +called Idees we should be in a very bad way in this +world. She knew that there is always a middling +chance that if you state a pseudo-Idee solemnly +enough, and trick it out with circumstance enough, +and set people talking enough about it, it will prove +just as serviceable as the genuine article; and she +was equally familiar, as we have seen, with that +beautiful and compensating Law by which quick +and original minds are refused money when they +are producing of their best but overwhelmed with +it when their brains have become as dry as baked +sponges. She had given Mr. Miller quite good Idees +in the past; she had no objection to being paid over +again for them now; and if they really had been +new ones they would have been of no use to Mr. +Miller for at least ten years to come. That is why the +art of advertisement is so comparatively advanced. +Any other art would have taken twenty years.</p> + +<p>Therefore, as she remembered the exceeding flimsiness +of the one poor Idee she had, she had resolved +that Mr. Miller's eyes should be diverted as much as +possible from the central lack, and kept to the bright +irrelevancies with which she would adorn it. The +Idee was that of the Litmus Layette ... but here +we may as well skip a few of Katie's artless betrayals +of her former friends, and come to the moment when +Mr. Miller, with his Edward the Sixth shoulders, +appeared, bowed, was introduced to Katie, bowed +again, sat down, and was regaled with hot cakes and +conversation. He had risen and bowed again, by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> +the way, when Dorothy, for certain reasons of policy, +had mentioned Katie's relationship to the great Sir +Joseph Deedes, and Katie had told of a stand-up +fight she had had with her uncle's Marshal about +admittance to his lordship's private room.</p> + +<p>"Well, now, that's something I've learned to-day," +Mr. Miller magnanimously admitted, sitting down +again. "So your English Judges have Marshals! I +was under the impression that that was a military +title, like Marshal Macmann and Field-Marshal Sir +Evelyn Wood. Well now.... And how might +Judge Deedes' Marshal be dressed, Miss Deedes?"</p> + +<p>"Not 'Judge' Deedes," said Katie smiling. +"That's a County Court Judge." And she explained. +Mr. Miller opened his eyes wide.</p> + +<p>"Is that so-o-o? Well now, if that isn't interesting! +That's noos. He's a Honourable with a 'u' in +it, and a Sir, and you call him his Lordship, and he's +Mister Justice Deedes! Ain't that English!... +Now let me see if I'm on the track of it. 'Your +Worship'—that's a Magistrate. 'Your Honour'—that's +the other sort of Judge. And 'My Lord'—that's +Miss Deedes' uncle. And an English Judge +has a Marshal.... Do you recollect our Marshals, +Mrs. Stan?——"</p> + +<p>Building (as it now appeared) even better than +he knew, Mr. Miller had, in the past, granted the +rank of Marshal to Messrs. Hallowell and Smiths' +shopwalkers.</p> + +<p>Dorothy's reason for thus flagrantly introducing +Sir Joseph's name was this:—</p> + +<p>Katie had left the Eden, and she herself was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> +presently off to Ludlow. Thus there was the +possible reversion of a job of sorts going a-begging. +Katie might as well have it as anybody else. Dorothy +had strictly enjoined upon her impulsive friend that +on no account was she to contradict or disclaim +anything she, Dorothy, might choose to say on her +behalf to Mr. Miller; and she intended that the credit, +such as it was, of the last Idee she even intended +to propose to Mr. Miller—the Litmus Layette—should +be Katie's start. Once started she would +have to look after herself.</p> + +<p>So when Mr. Miller passed from the subject of +Hallowell and Smiths' Marshals to that of his long-hoped-for +Idee, Dorothy was ready for him. Avoiding +the weak spot, she enlarged on the tradition—very +different from a mere superstition—that, in Layettes, +blue stood always for a boy and pink for a girl.</p> + +<p>"You see," she said, "this is England when +all's said, and we're <i>fright</i>fully conservative. Don't +condemn it just because it wouldn't go in New +York.... You've heard of the Willyhams, of +course?" she broke off suddenly to ask.</p> + +<p>"I cann't say I have, Mrs. Stan. But I'm sitting +here. Tell me. They're a Fam'ly, I presoom?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Upshire's their title. Now that title's +descended in the female line ever since Charles the +First. Ever since then the Willyham Layettes +have been pink as a matter of course. And now, not +a month ago, there was a boy, and they had to rush +off and get blue at the very last moment.... Let +me see, your children are little girls, aren't they?" +she again interrupted herself to say.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Three little goils, Mrs. Stan, with black-and-white +check frocks and large black bows in their hair."</p> + +<p>"Well, and mine are boys. Blue for me and pink +for you. But we'll come to that in a moment.—The +thing that really strikes me as extraordinary +is that in all these ages, with all the countless babies +that have been born, we don't know <i>yet</i> which it's +going to be!... And I don't think we ever shall. +Now just think what that means—not just to a +Royal House, with a whole succession depending on +it, and crowns and dynasties and things—but to +<i>every</i> woman! You see the <i>tremendous</i> interest they +take in it at once!—But I don't know whether a +man can ever understand that——"</p> + +<p>She paused.</p> + +<p>"Go on, Mrs. Stan—I want the feminine point of +voo," said Mr. Miller.—"The man ain't broken Post +Toasties yet that has more reverence for motherhood +than what I have——"</p> + +<p>"I know," said Dorothy bashfully. "But it +isn't the same—being a father. It's—it's different. +It's not the same. I doubt whether <i>any</i> man knows +what it means to us as we wait and wonder—and wait +and wonder—day after day—day after day——"</p> + +<p>Here she dropped her eyes. Here also Mr. Miller +dropped his head.</p> + +<p>"It isn't the same—being a father—it's different," +Dorothy was heard to murmur.</p> + +<p>Mr. Miller breathed something about the holiest +spot on oith.</p> + +<p>"So you see," Dorothy resumed presently, hoping +that Mr. Miller did not see. "It's the nearest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> +subject of all to us. The very first question we ask +one another is, 'Do you hope it's a little boy or a +little girl?' And as it's impossible to tell, it's +impossible for us to make our preparations. Lady +Upshire doesn't know one bit more about it than the +poorest woman in the streets. And this in an age +that boasts of its Science!"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Mr. Miller, giving it consideration, +"that's ver-ry true. I ain't a knocker; I don't +want to get knocking our men of science; but it's +a fact they cann't tell. I recollect Mrs. Miller +saying to me——"</p> + +<p>"Yes—look at it from Mrs. Miller's point of +view——"</p> + +<p>"I remember Mrs. Miller using the ver-ry woids +you've just used, Mrs. Stan. (I hope this don't +jolt Miss Deedes too much; it's ver-ry interessting). +And that's one sure thing, that it ain't a cinch for +Mrs. Bradley Martin any more than what it is for +any poor lady stenographer at so many dallars per. +But—if you'll pardon me putting the question in +that form—where's the <i>point</i>, Mrs. Stan? What's +the reel prapasition?"</p> + +<p>This being precisely what Dorothy was rather +carefully avoiding, again she smiled bashfully and +dropped her head, as if once more calling on those +profound reserves of Mr. Miller's veneration for +motherhood. These even profounder reserves, of +Mr. Miller's veneration for dallars, were too much to +the point altogether.</p> + +<p>"I was afraid you wouldn't understand," she +sighed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But," said Mr. Miller earnestly, "give me +something to get a hold of, Mrs. Stan. I ain't calling +the psychological prapasition down any; a business +man has to be psychologist all the time; but he +wants it straight. Straight psychology. The feminine +point of voo, but practical. It ain't for Harvard. +It's for Hallowell and Smith's."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Dorothy, "it's Miss Deedes' idea +really—and it would never have occurred to her if +it hadn't been for Lady Upshire—would it Katie?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Katie.</p> + +<p>"Very well. Suppose Lady Upshire had had the +Litmus Layette. All she would have had to do +would have been to take the ribbons out—the work of +a moment—the pink ribbons—dip them in the +preparation—and there they'd have been, ready for +immediate use. And blue ones would be dipped in +the other solution and of course they'd have turned +pink.... You see, you can't alter the baby, but +you can alter the ribbons. And it isn't only ribbons. +A woolly jacket—or a pram-rug—or socks—or +anything—I think it's an exceedingly clever Idea of +Miss Deedes!——"</p> + +<p>Mr. Miller gave it attention. Then he looked up.</p> + +<p>"Would it woik?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Dorothy ... "it works in chemistry. +But that's not the principal thing. It's its value as +an advertisement that's the real thing. Think of +the window-dressing!—Blue and pink, changing +before people's very eyes!—Just think how—I +mean, it interests <i>every</i> woman! They'd stand in +front of the window, and think—but you're a man.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> +Mrs. Miller would understand.... Anyhow, you +would get crowds of people, and that's what you +want—crowds of people—that's its advertisement-value.—And +then when you got them inside it +would be like having the hooks at one end of the +shop and the eyes at the other—a hook's no good +without an eye, so they have to walk past half a +mile of counters, and you sell them all sort of things +on the way. <i>I</i> think there's a great deal in it!"</p> + +<p>"It's a Stunt," Mr. Miller conceded, as if in spite +of himself he must admit thus much. "It's soitainly +a Stunt. But I'm not sure it's a reel Idee."</p> + +<p>"That," said Dorothy with conviction, "would +depend entirely in your own belief in it. If you +did it as thoroughly as you've done lots of other +things——"</p> + +<p>"It's soitainly a Stunt, Miss Deedes," Mr. Miller +mused....</p> + +<p>He was frowningly meditating on the mystic +differences between a Stunt and an Idee, and was +perhaps wondering how the former would demean +itself if he took the risk of promoting it to the dignity +of the latter, when the bell was heard to ring. A +moment later Ruth opened the door.</p> + +<p>"Lady Tasker," she said.</p> + +<p>Lady Tasker entered a little agitatedly, with an +early edition of the "Globe" crumpled in her hand.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p> + +<h2>II</h2> + +<h3>BY THE WAY</h3> + + +<p>Lady Tasker never missed the "Globe's" +<i>By the Way</i> column, and there was a curious, +mocking, unpleasant By-the-Way-ishness about the +announcement she made as she entered. There is a +special psychological effect, in the Harvard and not +in the Hallowell and Smith's sense, when you come +unexpectedly in print upon news that affects yourself. +The multiplicity of newspapers notwithstanding, +revelation still hits the ear less harshly than it does +the eye; telling is still private and intimate, type a +trumpeting to all the world at once. Dorothy +looked at the pink page Lady Tasker had thrust into +her hand as if it also, like the Litmus Layette, had +turned blue before her eyes.</p> + +<p>"<i>Not</i> Sir Benjamin who used to come and see +father!" she said, dazed.</p> + +<p>Lady Tasker had had time, on her way to the flat, +to recover a little.</p> + +<p>"There's only one Sir Benjamin Collins that I know +of," she answered curtly.</p> + +<p>"But—but—it <i>can't</i> be!——"</p> + +<p>Of course there was no reason in the world why +it couldn't. Quite on the contrary, there was that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> +best of all reasons why it could—it had happened. +Three bullet-wounds are three undeniable reasons. +It was the third, the brief account said, that had +proved fatal.</p> + +<p>"They say the finest view in Asia's Bombay +from the stern of a steamer," said Lady Tasker, +with no expression whatever. "I think your friend +Mr. Cosimo Pratt will be seeing it before very long."</p> + +<p>But Dorothy was white. <i>Their</i> Sir Benjamin!... +Why, as a little girl she had called him "Uncle Ben!" +He had not been an uncle really, of course, but she +had called him that. She could remember the +smell of his cigars, and the long silences as he had +played chess with her father, and his hands with the +coppery hair on them, and his laugh, and the way +the markhor at the Zoo had sniffed at his old patoo-coat, +just as cats now sniffed at her own set of civet +furs. And she had married him one day in the +nursery, when she had been about ten, and he had +taken her to the Pantomime that afternoon for a +Honeymoon—and then, when she had really married +Stan, he had given her the very rugs that were on her +bedroom floor at this moment.</p> + +<p>And, if this pink paper was to be believed, an +Invisible Man had shot at him three times, and at the +third shot had killed him.</p> + +<p>She had not heard her aunt's words about Cosimo. +She had been standing with her hand in Mr. Miller's, +having put it there when he had risen to take himself +off and forgotten to withdraw it again. Then Mr. +Miller had gone, and Dorothy had stood looking +stupidly at her aunt.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What did you say?" she said. "You said +something about Cosimo Pratt."</p> + +<p>"Don't you go, Katie; I want to talk to you +presently.—Sit down, Dot.—Get her a drink of +water."</p> + +<p>Dorothy sat heavily down and put out one hand +for the paper again.—"What did you say?" she +asked once more.</p> + +<p>"Never mind just now. Put your head back +and close your eyes for a minute."...</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>That was the rather unpleasant, By-the-Way part +of it. For of course it was altogether By-the-Way +when you looked at the matter broadly. Amory +could have explained this with pellucid clearness. +The murder of a Governor?... Of course, if you +happened to have known that Governor, and to have +married him in a child's game when you were ten +and he forty, and to have gone on writing letters to +him telling him all the news about your babies, and +to have had letters back from him signed "Uncle +Ben"—well, nobody would think it unnatural of you +to be a little shocked at the news of his assassination; +but Amory could easily have shown that that shock, +when you grew a little calmer and came to think +clearly about it, would be only a sort of extension of +your own egotism. Governors didn't really matter +one bit more because you were fond of them. Everybody +had somebody fond of them. Why, then, make +a disproportionate fuss about a single (and probably +corrupt) official, when thousands suffered gigantic +wrongs? The desirable thing was to look at these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> +things broad-mindedly, and not selfishly. It was +selfish, selfish and egotistical, to expect the whole +March of Progress to stop because you happened to +be fond of somebody (who probably hadn't been +one bit better than he ought to have been). These +pompous people of the official classes were always +bragging about their readiness to lay down their +lives for their country; very well; they had no +right to grumble when they were taken at their +word. Ruskin had expressed much the same +thought rather finely when he had said that a soldier +wasn't paid for killing, but for being killed. Some +people seemed to want it both ways—to go on +drawing their money while they were alive, and then +to have an outcry raised when they got shot. In +strict justice they ought to have been, not merely +shot, but blown from the mouths of guns; but of +course neither Amory nor anybody else wanted +to go quite so far as that.... Nevertheless, +perspective was needed—perspective, and vision of +such scope that you had a clear mental picture, not +of misguided individuals, who must die some time +or other and might as well do so in the discharge of +what it pleased them to call their "duty," but of +millions of our gentle and dark-skinned brothers, +waiting in rows with baskets on their heads (and +making simply ripping friezes) while the Banks paid +in pennies, and then holding lots of righteous and +picturesque Meetings, all about Tyrant England and +throwing off the Yoke. Amory would have conceded +that she had never had an Uncle Ben; but if she +had had fifty Uncle Bens she would still have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> +hoped to keep some small sense of proportion about +these things.</p> + +<p>But that again only showed anybody who was +anybody how hopelessly behind the noble movements +of her time Dorothy was. The sense of proportion +never entered her head. She gave a little shiver, even +though the day was warm, and then that insufferable +old aunt of hers, who might be a "Lady" but +had no more tact than to interfere with people's +liberty in the street, praised her gently when she +came round a bit, and said she was taking it very +bravely, when the truth was that she really ought to +have condemned her for her absurd weakness and +lack of the sense of relative values. No, there would +have been no doubt at all about it in Amory's mind: +that it was these people, who talked so egregiously +about "firm rule," who were the real sentimentalists, +and the others of the New Imperialism, with their +real grasp of the true and humane principles of +government, who were the downright practical +folk....</p> + +<p>All this fuss about a single Governor, of whom +Mr. Prang himself had said (and there was no gentler +soul living than Mr. Prang) that his extortions had +been a byword and his obstinacy proof positive of +his innate weakness!——</p> + +<p>But Amory was not in the pond-room that day, +and so Dorothy's sickly display of emotion went +unchecked. The nurse herded the Bits together, +but they were not admitted for their usual tea-time +romp. Indeed, Dorothy said presently, "Do you +mind if I leave you for a few minutes with Katie,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> +auntie?" She went into her bedroom and did not +return. Of all his "nieces" she had been his +favourite; her foot caught in one of his Kabuli +mats as she entered the bedroom. She lay down +on her bed. She longed for Stan to come and put +his arms about her.</p> + +<p>He came in before Lady Tasker had finished her +prolonged questioning of Katie. Aunt Grace told +him where Dorothy was. Then she and Katie left +together.</p> + +<p>The newspapers showed an excellent sense of +proportion about the incident. In the earlier +evening editions the death of Sir Benjamin was nicely +balanced by the 4.30 winners; and then a popular +actor's amusing replies in the witness-box naturally +overshadowed everything else. And, to anticipate a +little, on the following day the "Times" showed itself +to be, as usual, hopelessly in the wrong. Indeed +there were those who considered that this journal +made a deplorable exhibition of itself. For it had +no more modesty nor restraint than to use the harsh +word "murder," without any "alleged" about it, +which was, of course, a flagrant pre-judging of the +case. Nobody denied that at a first glance appearances +<i>were</i> a little against the gentle and dusky +brother, who had been seized with the revolver still in +his hand; but that was no reason why a bloated +capitalist rag should thus undermine the principles +of elementary justice. It ought to have made it all +the more circumspect.... But anybody who was +anybody knew exactly what was at the bottom of it +all. The "Times" was seeking a weapon against<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> +the Government. The staff was no doubt secretly +glad that it had happened, and was gloating, and +already calculating its effect on an impending by-election.... +Besides, there was the whole ethical +question of capital punishment. It would not bring +Sir Benjamin back to life to try this man, find him +guilty, and do him barbarously to death in the name +of the Law. That would only be two dead instead +of one. The proper way would be to hold an +inquiry, with the dusky instrument of justice (whose +faith in his mission must have been very great since +he had taken such risks for it) not presiding, perhaps, +but certainly called as an important witness to +testify to the Wrongness of the Conditions.... +Besides, an assassination is a sort of half-negligible +outbreak, regrettable certainly, for which excuse can +sometimes be found: but this other would be +deliberate, calculated, measured, and in flat violation +of the most cardinal of all the principles on which a +great Empire should be based—the principle of +Mercy stiffened with exactly the right modicum of +Justice....</p> + +<p>And besides....</p> + +<p>And besides....</p> + +<p>And besides....</p> + +<p>And when all is said, India is a long way off.</p> + +<p>The publication of the news produced a curious +sort of atmosphere at The Witan that afternoon. +Everybody seemed desirous of showing everybody +else that they were unconcerned, and yet an observer +might have fancied that they overdid it ever such a +little. At about the time when Lady Tasker left<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> +Dorothy with Stan, Mr. Wilkinson drove up in a cab +to the green door in the privet hedge and asked +for Amory. He was told that she had given word +that she did not want to see anybody. But in the +studio he found Mr. Brimby and Dickie Lemesurier, +and the three were presently joined by Laura and +Walter Wyron. A quorum of five callers never +hesitated to make themselves at home at The Witan. +They lighted the asbestos log, Walter found Cosimo's +cigarettes, and Dickie said she was sure Amory +wouldn't mind if she rang for tea. When they had +made themselves quite comfortable, they began to +chat about a number of things, not the murder.</p> + +<p>"Seen Strong?" Mr. Brimby asked Mr. Wilkinson.</p> + +<p>Mr. Wilkinson was at his most morose and +truculent.</p> + +<p>"No," he said. "I called at the office, but he was +out. Doesn't put in very much time there, it +seems to me. Perhaps he's at the Party's Meeting."</p> + +<p>"How is it you aren't there, by the way?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Wilkinson made a little sound of contempt.</p> + +<p>"Bah! All talk. Day in and day out, talk, +talk, talk. I want action. The leadership's all +wrong. Want a man. I keep my seat because if I +cleared out they'd be no better than a lot of tame +Liberal cats, but I've no use for 'em——"</p> + +<p>It was whispered that the members of the Party had +no use for Mr. Wilkinson, and very little for one +another; but it doesn't do to give ear to everything +that is whispered.</p> + +<p>Then Mr. Brimby appeared suddenly to recollect +something.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ah yes!... Action. Speaking of action, I +suppose you've seen this Indian affair in to-night's +papers?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Wilkinson was still fuming.</p> + +<p>"That Governor? Yes, I saw it.... But it's +too far away. Thousands of miles too far away. +We want something nearer home. A paper that +calls a spade a spade for one thing.... Anybody +heard from Pratt this week?"</p> + +<p>They discussed Cosimo's latest letter, and then +Mr. Brimby said, "By the way—how will this affect +him?"</p> + +<p>"How will what affect him?"</p> + +<p>"This news, to-night. Collins."</p> + +<p>"Oh!... Why should it affect him at all? +Don't see why it should. The 'Pall Mall' has a +filthy article on it to-night. That paper's getting as +bad as the 'Times.'"</p> + +<p>Here Walter Wyron intervened.—"By the way, +who <i>is</i> this man Collins? Just pass me 'Who's Who,' +Laura."</p> + +<p>They looked Sir Benjamin up in "Who's Who," +and then somebody suggested that their party wasn't +complete without Edgar Strong. "I'll telephone +him," said Walter; "perhaps he'll be back by this."—The +telephone was in the hall, and Walter went out. +Dickie told Laura how well Walter was looking. +Laura replied, Yes, he was very well indeed; +except for a slight cold, which anybody was lucky +to escape in May, he had never been better; which +was wonderful, considering the work he got through.—Then +Walter returned. Strong had not yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> +come in, but his typist had said he'd be back soon.—"Didn't +know it ran to a typist," Walter remarked, +helping himself to more tea.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't," Mr. Wilkinson grunted.</p> + +<p>"Girl's voice, anyway.... I say, I wonder how +old Prang's getting on!"</p> + +<p>"I wonder!"</p> + +<p>"He's gone back, hasn't he?" Dickie asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, a couple of months ago. Didn't Strong +give him the push, Wilkie?"</p> + +<p>"Don't suppose Strong ever did anything so +vigorous," Mr. Wilkinson growled. "The only +strong thing about Strong's his name. He's simply +ruined that paper."</p> + +<p>"I agree that it was at its best when Prang was +doing the Indian notes."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Prang knew what he wanted. Prang's all +right in his way. But I tell you India's too far +away. We want something at our own doors, and +somebody made an example of that somebody knows. +Now if Pratt had only been guided by me——"</p> + +<p>"Hallo, here's Britomart Belchamber.—Why +doesn't Amory come down, Brit? She's in, isn't +she?"</p> + +<p>"What?" said Miss Belchamber.</p> + +<p>"Isn't Amory coming down?"</p> + +<p>"She's gone out," said Miss Belchamber, adjusting +her hair. "A min-ute ago," she added.</p> + +<p>Walter Wyron said something about "Cool—with +guests——," but Amory's going out was no +reason why they should not finish tea in comfort. +No doubt Amory would be back presently. Laura<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> +confided to Britomart that she hoped so, for the +truth was that her kitchen range had gone wrong, +and a man had said he was coming to look at it, +but he hadn't turned up—these people never turned +up when they said they would—and so she had +thought it would be nice if they came and kept +Amory company at supper....</p> + +<p>"We've got some new cheese-bis-cuits," said Miss +Belchamber ruminatively. "I like them. They +make bone. I like to have bone made. The +muscles can't act unless you have bone. That's +why these bis-cuits are so good. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>And Miss Belchamber, with a friendly general +smile, went off to open her sweat-ducts by means of +a hot bath and to close them again afterwards with +a cold sponge.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Amory had not gone out this time to press amidst +strange people and to look into strange and frightening +eyes, various in colour as the pebbles of a beach, and +tipped with arrow-heads of white as they turned. +Almost for the first time in her life she wanted to +be alone—quite alone, with her eyes on nobody +and nobody's eyes on her. She did not reflect on +this. She did not reflect on anything. She only +knew that The Witan seemed to stifle her, and that +when she had seen Mr. Wilkinson alight from his +cab—and Mr. Brimby and Dickie come—and the +Wyrons—with all the others no doubt following +presently—it had come sharply upon her that these +wearisomely familiar people used up all the air. +The Witan without them was bad enough; The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +Witan with them had become insupportable.</p> + +<p>It was not the assassination of Sir Benjamin that +had disturbed her. Since Cosimo's departure she +had glanced at Indian news only a shade less +perfunctorily than before, and she had turned from +this particular announcement to the account of +New Greek Society's production with hardly a change +of boredom. No: it was everything in her life—everything. +She felt used up. She thought that if +anybody had spoken to her just then she could only +have given the incoherent and petulant "Don't!" +of a child who is interrupted at a game that none +but he understands. She hated herself, yet hated +more to be dragged out of herself; and as she made +for the loneliest part of the Heath she wished that +night would fall.</p> + +<p>She had to all intents and purposes packed +Cosimo off to India in order to have him out of the +way. His presence had become as wearisome as +that of the Wyrons and the rest of them. And that +was as much as she had hitherto told herself. She +had taken no resolution about Edgar Strong. But +drifting is accelerated when an obstacle is removed, +and her heart had frequently beaten rapidly at the +thought that, merely by removing Cosimo, she had +started a process that would presently bring her up +against Edgar Strong. She had pleased and teased +and frightened herself with the thought of what +was to happen then. So many courses would be +open to her. She might actually take the mad +plunge from which she had hitherto shrunk. She +might do the very opposite—stare at him, should he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> +propose it, and inform him that, some thousands of +miles notwithstanding, she was still Cosimo's wife. +She might pathetically urge on him that, now more +than ever, she needed a friend and not a lover—or +else that, now more than ever, she needed a lover +and not a friend. She might say that nothing could +be done until Cosimo came back—or that when +Cosimo came back would be too late to do anything. +Or she might....</p> + +<p>Or she might....</p> + +<p>Or she might....</p> + +<p>Yet when all was said, Edgar and the "Novum's" +offices were perilously near....</p> + +<p>For it was not what she might do, but what he +might do, that set her heart beating most rapidly +of all. Her dangerous dreaming always ended in +that. Here was no question of that trumpery +subterfuge of the Wyrons. It struck her with +extraordinary force and newness that she was what +was called "a married woman." It was a familiar +phrase; it was as familiar as those other phrases, +"No, just living together," "Well, as long as there +are no children," "Love <i>is</i> Law"—familiar as the +air. Left to herself, the phrases might have remained +both her dissipation and her safeguard.... But +he? Would phrases content him? After she had +tempted him as she knew she had tempted him? +After that stern repression of himself in favour of +his duty? Or would he ask her again what she +thought he was made off?... It was always the +man who was expected to take the decisive step. +The woman simply—offered—and, if she was clever,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +did it in such a way that she could always deny it +after the fact. If Edgar should <i>not</i> stretch out his +hand—well, in that case there would be no more to +be said. But if he should?...</p> + +<p>A little sound came from her closed lips.</p> + +<p>Cosimo had been away for nearly three months, +and had not yet said anything about returning; and +Amory had smiled when, after many eager protestings +that there was no reason (Love being Law) why +he should go alone, he had after all funked taking his +splendid turnip of a Britomart with him. Of course: +when it had come to the point, he had lacked the +courage. Amory could not help thinking that that +lack was just a shade more contemptible than his +philanderings. Courage!... Images of Cleopatra +and the carpet rose in her mind again.... But +the images were faint now. She had evoked them +too often. Her available mental material had +become stale. She needed a fresh impulse—a new +experience——</p> + +<p>But—she always got back to the same point—suppose +Edgar should take her, not at her word, nor +against her word, but with words, for once, left +suddenly and entirely out of the question?...</p> + +<p>Again the thumping heart——</p> + +<p>It was almost worth the misery and loneliness for +the sake of that painful and delicious thrill.</p> + +<p>She was sitting on a bench under the palings of +Ken Wood, watching a saffron sunset. A Prince +Eadmond's girl in a little green Florentine cap passed. +She reminded Amory of Britomart Belchamber, and +Amory rose and took the root-grown path to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> +Spaniards Road and the West Heath. She intended +to take a walk as far as Golders Green Park; but, +as it happened, she did not get so far. A newsboy, +without any sense of proportion whatever, was +crying cheerfully, "Murder of a Guv'nor—Special!" +This struck Amory. She thought she had read it +once before that afternoon, but she bought another +paper and turned to the paragraph. Yes, it was +the same—and yet it was somehow different. It +seemed—she could not tell why—a shade more +important than it had done. Perhaps the newsboy's +voice had made it sound more important: +things did seem to come more personally home when +they were spoken than when they were merely read. +She hoped it was not very important; it might be +well to make sure. She was not very far from +home; her Timon-guests would still be there; +somebody would be able to tell her all about it....</p> + +<p>She walked back to The Witan again, and, still +hatted and dressed, pushed at the studio door.</p> + +<p>Nobody had left. Indeed, two more had come—young +Mr. Raffinger of the McGrath, and a friend of +his, a young woman from the Lambeth School of +Art, who had Russianized her painting-blouse by +putting a leather belt round it, and who told Amory +she had wanted to meet her for such a long time, +because she had done some designs for Suffrage +Christmas Cards, and hoped Amory wouldn't mind +her fearful cheek, but hoped she would look at them, +and say exactly what she thought about them, and +perhaps give her a tip or two, and, if it wasn't +asking too much, introduce her to the Manumission<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> +League, or to anybody else who might buy them.... +Young Raffinger interrupted the flow of gush +and apologetics.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't bother her just yet, Eileen. Let her +read her cable first."</p> + +<p>Amory turned quickly.—"What do you say? +What cable?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"There's a cable for you."</p> + +<p>It lay on the uncleared tea-table, and everybody +seemed to know all about the outside of it at all +events. As it was not in the usual place for letters, +perhaps it had been passed from hand to hand. +Quite unaffectedly, they stood round in a ring while +Amory opened it, with all their eyes on her. They +most frightfully wanted to know what was in it, +but of course it would have been rude to ask outright. +So they merely watched, expectantly.</p> + +<p>Then, as Amory stood looking at the piece of +paper, Walter was almost rude. But in the circumstances +everybody forgave him.</p> + +<p>"Well?" he said; and then with ready tact he +retrieved the solecism. "Hope it's good news, +Amory?"</p> + +<p>For all that there was just that touch of <i>schadenfreude</i> +in his tone that promised that he for one +would do his best to bear up if it wasn't.</p> + +<p>Amory was a little pale. It was the best of news, +and yet she was a little pale. Perhaps she was faint +because she had not had any tea.</p> + +<p>"Cosimo's coming home," she said.</p> + +<p>There was a moment's silence, and then the +congratulations broke out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, good!"</p> + +<p>"Shall be glad to see the old boy!"</p> + +<p>"Finished his work, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Or perhaps it's something to do with this Collins +business?"</p> + +<p>It was Mr. Brimby who had made this last remark. +Amory turned to him slowly.</p> + +<p>"What is this Collins business?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brimby dropped his sorrowing head.</p> + +<p>"Ah, poor fellow," he murmured. "I'm afraid +he went to work on the wrong principles. A <i>little</i> +more conciliation ... but it's difficult to blame +anybody in these cases. The System's at fault. +Let us not be harsh. I quite agree with Wilkinson +that the 'Pall Mall' to-night is very harsh."</p> + +<p>"Cowardly," said Mr. Wilkinson grimly. "Rubbing +it in because they have some sort of a show of a +case. They're always mum enough on the other +side."</p> + +<p>Amory lifted her head.</p> + +<p>"But you say this might have something to do +with Cosimo's coming back. Tell me at once what's +happened.—And put that telegram down, Walter. +It's mine."</p> + +<p>They had never heard Amory speak like this +before. It was rather cool of her, in her own house, +and quite contrary to the beautiful Chinese rule of +politeness. And somehow her tone seemed, all at once, +to dissipate a certain number of pretences that for +the last hour or more they had been laboriously seeking +to keep up. That, at any rate, was a relief. For +a minute nobody seemed to want to answer Amory;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> +then Mr. Wilkinson took it upon himself to do so—characteristically.</p> + +<p>"Nothing's happened," he said, "—nothing that +we haven't all been talking about for a year and +more. What the devil—let's be plain for once. +To look at you, anybody'd think you hadn't meant +it! By God, if <i>I'd</i> had that paper of yours!... +I told you at the beginning what Strong was—neither +wanted to do things nor let 'em alone; but +<i>I'd</i> have shown you! I'd have had a dozen Prangs! +But he didn't want one—and he didn't want to sack +him—afraid all the time something 'ld happen, but +daren't stop—doing too well out of it for that ... +and now that it's happened, what's all the to-do +about? You're always calling it War, aren't you? +And it <i>is</i> War, isn't it? Or only Brimby's sort of +War—like everything else about Brimby?——"</p> + +<p>Here somebody tried to interpose, but Mr. Wilkinson +raised his voice almost to a shout.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it? Isn't it?... Lookee here! A little +fellow came here one Sunday, a little collier, and he +said 'Wilkie knows!' And by Jimminy, Wilkie +does know! I tell you it's everybody for himself in +this world, and I'm out for anything that's going! +(Yes, let's have a bit o' straight talk for a change!) +War? Of course it's War! What do we all mean +about street barricades and rifles if it isn't War? +It's War when they fetch the soldiers out, isn't it? +Or is that a bit more Brimby? And you can't have +War without killing somebody, can you? I tell +you we want it at home, not in India! I've stood at +the dock gates waiting to be taken on, and I know—no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> +fear! To hell with your shillyshallying! If +Collins gets in the way, Collins must get out o' the +way. We can't stop for Collins. I wish it had been +here! I can just see myself jumping off a bridge +with a director in my arms—the fat hogs! If I'd +had that paper! There'd have been police round +this house long ago, and then the fun would have +started!... Me and Prang's the only two of all +the bunch that <i>does</i> know what we want! And +Prang's got his all right—my turn next—and I +shan't ask Brimby to help me——"</p> + +<p>Through a sort of singing in her ears Amory heard +the rising cries of dissent that interrupted Mr. +Wilkinson—"Oh no—hang it—Wilkinson's going +too far!" But the noise conveyed little to her. +Stupidly she was staring at the blue and yellow jets +of the asbestos log, and weakly thinking what a +silly imitation the thing was. She couldn't imagine +however Cosimo had come to buy it. And then she +heard Mr. Wilkinson repeating some phrase he had +used before: "There'd have been police round this +house and then the fun would have begun!" +Police round The Witan, she thought? Why? It +seemed very absurd to talk like that. Mr. Brimby +was telling Mr. Wilkinson how absurd it was. But +Mr. Brimby himself was rather absurd when you +came to think of it....</p> + +<p>Then there came another shouted outburst.—"Another +Mutiny? Well, what about it? It <i>is</i> +War, isn't it? Or is it only Brimby's sort of +War?——"</p> + +<p>Then Amory felt herself grow suddenly cold and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> +resolved. Cosimo was coming back. Whether he +had made India too hot to hold him, as now appeared +just possible, she no longer cared, for at last she +knew what she intended to do. Her guests were +wrangling once more; let them wrangle; she was +going to leave this house that Mr. Wilkinson apparently +wanted to surround with police as a preliminary +to the "fun." Edgar might still be at the +office; if he was not, she would sleep at some hotel +and find him in the morning. Then she would take +her leap. She had hesitated far too long. She +would not go and look at the twins for fear lest she +should hesitate again....</p> + +<p>Just such a sense of rest came over her as a +swimmer feels who, having long struggled against +a choppy stream, suddenly abandons himself to it +and lets it bear him whither it will.</p> + +<p>Unnoticed in the heat of the dispute, she crossed +to the studio door. She thought she heard Laura +call, "Can I come and help, Amory?" No doubt +Laura thought she was going to see about supper. +But she no longer intended to stay even for supper +in this house of wrangles and envy and crowds and +whispering and crookedness.</p> + +<p>Her cheque-book and some gold were in her +dressing-table drawer upstairs. She got them. Then +she descended again, opened the front door, closed +it softly behind her again, passed through the door +in the privet hedge, and walked out on to the dark +Heath.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p> + +<h2>III</h2> + +<h3><i>DE TROP</i></h3> + + +<p>Those who knew Edgar Strong the best knew +that the problem of how to make the best of +both worlds pressed with a peculiar hardship on him. +The smaller rebel must have the whole of infinity for +his soul to range in—and, for all the practical concern +that man has with it, infinity may be defined +as the condition in which the word of the weakest +is as good as that of the wisest. Give him scope +enough and Mr. Brimby cannot be challenged. +There is no knowledge of which he says that it is too +wonderful for him, that it is high and he cannot +attain unto it.</p> + +<p>But Edgar Strong knew a little more than Mr. +Brimby. He bore his share of just such a common +responsibility as is not too great for you or for me +to understand. Between himself and Mr. Prang +had been a long and slow and grim struggle, without +a word about it having been said on either side; +and it had not been altogether Edgar Strong's fault +that in the end Mr. Prang had been one too many +for him.</p> + +<p>For, consistently with his keeping his three hundred +a year (more than two-thirds of which by one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> +means and another he had contrived to save), he +did not see that he could have done much more than +he had done. Things would have been far worse +had he allowed Mr. Wilkinson to oust him. And +now he knew that this was the "Novum's" finish. +Whispers had reached him that behind important +walls important questions were being asked, and +a ponderous and slow-moving Department had +approached another Body about certain finportations +(Sir Joseph Deedes, Katie's uncle, knew all +about these things). And this and that and the +other were going on behind the scenes; and these +deep mutterings meant, if they meant anything at +all, that it was time Edgar Strong was packing up.</p> + +<p>Fruit-farming was the line he fancied; oranges +in Florida; and it would not take long to book +passages—passages for two——</p> + +<p>He had heard the news in the early afternoon, +and had straightway sent off an express messenger +to the person for whom the second passage was +destined. Within an hour this person had run up +the stairs, without having met anybody on a landing +whom it had been necessary to ask whether Mr. +So-and-So, the poster artist, had a studio in the +building. Edgar Strong's occupation as she had +entered had made words superfluous. He had been +carrying armfuls of papers into the little room behind +the office and thrusting them without examination +on the fire. The girl had exchanged a few rapid +sentences with him, had bolted out again, hailed +a taxi, sought a Bank, done some business there on +the stroke of four, and had driven thence to a shipping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> +office. Edgar Strong, in Charing Cross Road, +had continued to feed his fire. The whole place +smelt of burning paper. A mountain of ashes choked +the grate and spread out as far as the bed and the +iron washstand in the corner.</p> + +<p>The girl returned. From under the bed she pulled +out a couple of bags. Into these she began to thrust +her companion's clothes. Into a third and smaller +bag she crammed her own dressing-gown and +slippers, a comb and a couple of whalebone brushes, +and other things. She had brought word that the +boat sailed the day after to-morrow....</p> + +<p>"There's the telephone—just answer it, will +you?" Strong said, casting another bundle on the +fire....</p> + +<p>"Wyron," said the girl, returning.</p> + +<p>"Never mind those boots; they're done; and you +might get me a safety-razor; shall want it on the +ship.... By the way—I think we'd better get +married."</p> + +<p>The girl laughed.—"All right," she said as she +crammed a nightdress-case into the little bag....</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Amory walked quickly down the East Heath. +As she walked she could not help wondering what +there had been to make such a fuss about. Indeed +she had been making quite a bugbear of the thing +she was now doing quite easily. What, after all, +would it matter? Would a single one of the people +she passed so hurriedly think her case in the least +degree special? Had they not, each one of them, +their own private and probably very similar affairs?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> +Was there one of them of whom it could be said +with certainty that he or she was not, at that very +moment, bound on the same errand? She looked +at the women. There was nothing to betray them, +but it was quite as likely as not. Nor could they +tell by looking at her. For that matter, the most +resolute would hide it the most. And a person's life +was his own. Nobody would give him another one +when he had starved and denied the one he had. +There might not be another one. Some people said +that there was, and some that there wasn't. Meetings +were held about that too, but so far they hadn't +seemed to advance matters very much....</p> + +<p>Nor was it the urge of passion that was now +driving her forward at such a rate. She could not +help thinking that she had been rather silly in her +dreams about carpets and Nubians and those things. +If Edgar was passionate, very well—she would deny +him nothing; but in that case she would feel ever +so slightly superior to Edgar. She rather wished +that that was not so; she hoped that after all it +might not be so; on the whole she would have +preferred to be a little his inferior. She had not been +inferior to Cosimo. They, she and Cosimo, had +talked a good deal about equality, of course, but, +after all, equality was a balance too nice for the +present stressful stage of the struggle between man +and woman; a theoretical equality if you liked, but +in practice the thing became a slight temporary +feminine preponderance, which would, no doubt, +settle down in time. Virtually she had been Cosimo's +master. She did not want to be Edgar's. Rather<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> +than be that he might—her tired sensibilities gave +a brief flutter—he might even be a little cruel to her +if he wished....</p> + +<p>A Tottenham Court Road bus was just starting +from the bottom of Pond Street. She ran to catch +it. It moved forward again, with Amory sitting +inside it, between a man in a white muffler and opera-hat +and a flower-woman returning home with her +empty baskets.</p> + +<p>Many, many times Amory Pratt, abusing her +fancy, had rehearsed the scene to which she was now +so smoothly and rapidly approaching; but she +rehearsed nothing now. It would suffice for her +just to appear before Edgar; no words would be +necessary; he would instantly understand. Of +course (she reflected) he might have left the office +when she got there; it was even reasonably probable +that he would have left; it was not a press-night; +twenty to one he would have left. But her thoughts +went forward again exactly as if she had not just +told herself this.... He would be there. She +would go up to him and stand before him. As likely +as not not a word would pass between them. She +felt that she had used too many words in her life. +She and her set had discussed subjects simply out +of existence. Often, by the time they had finished +talking, not one of them had known what they had +been talking about. It had been sheer dissipation. +Men, she had heard, took drinks like that, and by +and by were unable to stand, and then made +hideous exhibitions of themselves. Nobody could +say exactly at what point they, the men, became<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> +incapable, nor the point at which the others, Amory +and her set, became word-sodden; in the one case +the police (she had heard) made them walk a chalk-line; +but there was no chalk-line for the others. +Their paths were crooked as scribble....</p> + +<p>But she was going straight at last—as straight as a +pair of tram-lines could take her—and so far was +she from wishing that the tram would go more +slowly, that she would have hastened it had she +been able.</p> + +<p>The "Mother Shipton"—the Cobden Statue—Hampstead +Road—the "Adam and Eve." At this last +stopping-place she descended, crossed the road, and +boarded a bus. She remembered that once before, +when she had visited the office in a taxi, the cab +had seemed to go at a terrifying speed; now the +bus seemed to crawl. A fear took her that every +stop might cause her to miss him by just a minute. +She tapped with her foot. She looked almost +angrily at those who got in or out. That flower-woman: +why couldn't she have got out at the proper +stopping-place, instead of upsetting everything with +her baskets hardly a hundred yards further on?... +Off again; she hoped to goodness that was +the last delay. She had been stupid not to take a +taxi after all.</p> + +<p>She descended opposite the "Horse Shoe," not three +minutes' walk from the "Novum's" offices. Then +again she called herself stupid for not having sat +where she was, since the bus would go straight past +the door. But she could be there as soon as the bus +if she walked quickly.—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>The bus overtook her and beat her by twenty +yards.</p> + +<p>The bookseller's shutters were down, and in the +window of the electric-fittings shop could be dimly +seen a ventilating fan, a desk-lamp, and a switchboard +or two. Amory turned in under the arch +that led to the yard behind. Her eyes had gone up +to the third floor almost before she had issued +from the narrow alley——</p> + +<p>Ah!... So she was not too late. There was a +light.</p> + +<p>Through the ground-floor cavern in which the +sandwich-boards were stacked she had for the first +time to slacken her pace; the floor was uneven, +and the place was crowded with dim shadows. A +man smoking a pipe over an evening paper turned +as she entered, but, seeing her make straight for the +stairs, he did not ask her her business. The winding +wooden staircase was black as a flue. On the first +landing she paused for a moment; the man with the +pipe had, after all, challenged her, "Who is it you +want, Miss?" he called from below.... But he did +not follow her. A vague light from the landing +window showed her the second flight of wedge-shaped +wooden steps. She mounted them, and +gained the corridor hung with the specimens of the +poster-artist's work. Ahead along the passage a +narrow shaft of light crossed the floor. She gave +one more look behind, for fear the man below had, +after all, followed her; she was determined, but that +did not mean that she necessarily wished to be +seen....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p> + +<p>Her life was her own, to do what she liked with. +Nobody would give her another one....</p> + +<p>And Edgar might be cruel if he wished....</p> + +<p>For one instant longer she hesitated. Then she +pushed softly at the door from which the beam of +light came.</p> + +<p>The quietness of her approach was wasted after +all. There was nobody in the office. The floor +was untidy with scattered leaves of paper, and +Edgar had carelessly left every drawer of his desk +open; but that only meant that he could not be +very far away. Probably he was in the waiting-room. +She approached the door of it.</p> + +<p>But, as she did so, some slight unfamiliarity about +the place struck her. The first room of the three, +or waiting-room, she knew, from having once or +twice pushed at the first door of the passage and +having had to pass through that ante-room. Of the +third room she knew nothing save that it was used +as a sort of general lumber-room. But the rooms +seemed somehow to have got changed about. It +was from this third room, and not from the waiting-room, +that a bright light came, and the smell of +charred paper. The door was partly open. Amory +advanced to it.</p> + +<p>As she did so somebody spoke.</p> + +<p>For so slight a cause, the start that Amory gave +was rather heartrending. She stopped dead. Her +face had turned so chalky a white that the freckles +upon it, which ordinarily scarcely showed, looked +almost unwholesome.</p> + +<p>In her mind she had given Edgar Strong leave to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> +be cruel to her, but not with this cruelty. The +cruelty we choose is always another cruelty. Once a +man, who miraculously survived a flogging, said +that by comparison with the anguish of the second +stroke that of the first was almost a sweetness; and +after the third, and fourth, men, they say, have +laughed. It happened so to Amory. The voices +she heard were not loud; so much the worse, when +a few ordinary, grunted, half expressions could so +pierce her.</p> + +<p>"——months ago, but I wasn't ready. I stayed on +here for nobody's convenience but my own, I can +tell you." It was Edgar who said this.</p> + +<p>Then a woman's voice—</p> + +<p>"I don't think this waistcoat's worth taking; +I've patched and patched it——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, chuck it under the bed. And I say—we've +had nothing to eat. Make the cocoa, will you?"</p> + +<p>"Just a minute till I finish this bag.—What'll +Pratt say when he comes back?"</p> + +<p>"As I shan't be here to hear him, it's hardly +worth while guessing."</p> + +<p>"Will Wilkinson take it over?"</p> + +<p>"The 'Novum'?... I don't think there'll +be any more 'Novum.' I suppose these London +Indians will be holding a meeting. I don't like 'em, +but let's be fair to them: most of 'em are all right. +They've got to dissociate themselves from this +Collins business somehow. But I expect some +lunatic will go and move an amendment.... Well, +it won't matter to us. We shall be well down the +Channel by that time."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then the girl gave a low laugh.—"I <i>do</i> think you +might buy me a trousseau, Ned—the way it's turned +out——"</p> + +<p>The man's voice grunted.</p> + +<p>"I thought that would be the next. Give you +something and you all want something else immediately.... +Can't afford it, my dear. I've only +pulled between three and four hundred out of this +show, living here, paying myself space-rates and all +the lot; and we shall want all that."</p> + +<p>Again the low voice—very soft and low.</p> + +<p>"But you'll be a little sorry to leave here, won't +you—m'mmm?——" (This was the second stroke, +by comparison with which the first had been +sweet.)</p> + +<p>Strong spoke brusquely.—"Look here, old girl—we've +heaps of things to do to-night—lots of time +before us—don't let's have any nonsense——"</p> + +<p>"No-o-o?"——</p> + +<p>Amory, besides hearing, might have seen; but +she did not. Something had brought into her head +her own words to Walter Wyron of an hour or two +before, when Walter had picked up the cable announcing +Cosimo's return: "Put that down, +Walter; it's mine." This other, that was taking +place in that inner room, was theirs. It would have +been perfectly easy to strike them dumb by appearing, +just for one moment, in the doorway of this—lumber-room; +but she preferred not to do it. If +she had, she felt that it would have been the remains +of a woman they would have seen. There is not +much catch in striking anybody dumb when the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> +process involves their seeing—that. Much better +to steal out quietly....</p> + +<p>Noiselessly she turned her back to the half-open +door. She tiptoed out into the corridor again. For +a dozen yards she continued to tiptoe—in order to +spare them; and then she found herself at the head +of the steep stairs. She descended. She had not +made a single sound. Down below the man was +still reading the paper, and again he looked round. +At another time Amory might have questioned him; +but again she did not. There was nothing to learn. +She knew.</p> + +<p>It was the first thing she had ever really known.</p> + +<p>Bowed with the strangeness of knowledge, she +walked slowly out into Charing Cross Road.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p> + +<h2>IV</h2> + +<h3>GREY YOUTH</h3> + + +<p>She continued to walk slowly; the slowness was +as remarkable as her haste had been. She had +intended, had she missed Edgar, to go to an hotel; +but home was hotel enough, hotel home. Home—home +to a house without privacy—home to children +of whom she was not much more than technically +the mother—home to an asbestos log and to the +absence of a husband that was at least as desirable +as his presence: nothing else remained.</p> + +<p>For her lack seemed total—so total as hardly to +be a lack. She desired no one thing, and a desire +for everything is an abuse of the term "desire." +So she walked slowly, stopping now and then to look +at a flagstone as if it had been a remarkable object. +And as she walked she wondered how she had come +to be as she was.</p> + +<p>She could not see where her life had gone wrong. +She did not remember any one point at which she had +taken a false and crucial step. For example, she +did not think this grey and harmonious totality of +despondency had come of her marrying Cosimo. They +were neither outstandingly suited nor unsuited to +one another, and a thousand marriages precisely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> +similar were made every day and turned out well +enough. No; it could not be that she had +expected too much of marriage. She had not +courted disappointment that way.... (But stay: +had the trouble come of her not expecting largely +enough? Of her not having assumed enough? +Of her not having said to Life, "Such and such I +intend to have, and you shall provide it?" Would +she have fared better then?)... And if Cosimo +had brought her no wonder, neither had her babes. +People were in the habit of saying astonishing things +about the miracle of the babe at the breast, but +Amory could only say that she had never experienced +these things. She had wondered that she should not, +when so many others apparently did, but the fact +remained, that bearing had been an anguish and +nursing an inconvenience. And so at the twins she +had stopped.</p> + +<p>Would it have been better had she not stopped? +Would she have been happier with many children? +Without children at all? Or unmarried? Or +ought her painting to have been husband, home and +children to her?...</p> + +<p>It was a little late in the day to ask these questions +now——</p> + +<p>And yet there had been no reason for asking them +earlier——</p> + +<p>It had needed that, her first point of knowledge, +to bring it home into her heart....</p> + +<p>But do not suppose that she was in any pain. +As a spinally-anaesthetized subject may have a quite +poignant interest in the lopping off of one of his own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> +limbs, and may even wonder that he feels no local +pain, so she assisted at her own dismemberment. +Home, husband, babes, her art—one after another +she now seemed to see them go—or rather, seemed +to see that they had long since gone. She saw this +going, in retrospect. It was as if, though only +degree by degree had the pleasant things of life +ticked away from her, the escapement was now +removed from her memory, allowing all with a buzz +to run down to a dead stop. She could almost hear +that buzz, almost see that soft rim of whizzing +teeth....</p> + +<p>Now all was stillness—stillness without pain. +She knew now what Edgar Strong had been doing. +She knew that he had been making use of her, +pocketing Cosimo's money, using the "Novum's" +office as his lodging, had had his bed there, his +slippers in the fender, his kettle, his cocoa, his plates, +his cups, his.... And she knew now that Edgar +Strong was only one of those who had clustered like +leeches about Cosimo.... She forgot how much +Cosimo had said that from first to last it had all cost. +She thought twenty thousand pounds. Twenty +thousand pounds, all vanished between that first +Ludlow experiment and that last piece of amateur +sociology, three revolver shots in a man's back! +As a price it was stiffish. She did not quite know +what the provider of the money had had out of it all. +At any rate she herself had this curious stilly state +of painless but rather sickening knowledge. And +knowledge, they say, is above rubies. So perhaps +it was cheap after all....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> + +<p>But where had she gone wrong? Had she simply +been born wrong? Would it have made any difference +whatever she had done? Or had all this been +appointed for her or ever her mother had conceived +her?</p> + +<p>She asked herself this as she passed Whitefield's +Tabernacle; still walking slowly, she was well up +Hampstead Road and still no answer had occurred +to her. But somewhere near the gold-beater's arm +on the right-hand side of the road a thought did +strike her. She thought that she would not go +home after all. This was not because to go home +now would be inglorious; it was no attempt to keep +up appearances; it was merely that she would have +preferred anything to this horrible numbness. Pain +would be better. It is at any rate a condition of +pain that you must be alive to feel it, and she did +not feel quite alive. This might be a dream from +which she would presently wake, or a waking from +which she would by and by drop off to sleep again. +In either case it was more than she could bear for +much longer, and, did she go home, she would have +to bear it throughout the night—for days—until +Cosimo came back—after that——</p> + +<p>But where else to go, if not to The Witan? To +Laura's? To Dickie's? That would be the same +thing as going home: little enough change from +spinal anaesthesia in that! They could not help. +Of all her old associates, there was hardly one but +might—that was to say if anything extraordinary +ever happened to them, like suddenly getting to +know something—there was hardly one of them but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> +might experience precisely this same hopeless perfection +of wrongness, and fail to discover any one +point at which it had all begun. It was rather to be +hoped (Amory thought) that they never would get +to know anything. They were happier as they +were, in a self-contained and harmonious ignorance. +Knowledge attained too late was rather dreadful; +people ought to begin to get it fairly early or not at +all. They ought to begin at about the age of Corin +and Bonniebell....</p> + +<p>A month ago the last person she would have gone +to with a trouble would have been Dorothy Tasker. +They had not a single view in common. Moreover, +it would have been humiliating. But now that +actually became, in a curious, reflex sort of way, a +reason for going. She did not know that she +actually wished to be humiliated; she did not think +about it; but she had been looking at herself, and at +people exactly like herself, for a long, long, long +time, and, when you have looked at yourself too +much you can sometimes actually find out something +new about yourself by looking for a change +at somebody else as little like you as can possibly be +found. Amory had tried a good many things, but +she had never tried this. It might be worth trying. +She hesitated for one moment longer. This was +when she feared that Dorothy might offer her, not +the change from numbness to pain, but a sympathy +and consolation that, something deep down within +her told her, would not help her.... A little more +quickly, but not much, she walked up Maiden Road. +She turned into Fleet Road, and reached the tram-terminus<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> +below Hampstead Heath Station. Thence +to Dorothy's was a bare five minutes. What she +should say when she got to Dorothy's she did not +trouble to think.</p> + +<p>And at first it looked as if she would not be +allowed to say anything at all to her, for when she +rang the bell of the hall-floor flat Stan himself +opened the door, looked at her with no great favour, +and told her that Dorothy was not to be seen. From +that Amory gathered that Dorothy was at least +within.</p> + +<p>Now when your need of a thing is very great, you +are not to be put off by a young man who admits that +his wife is at home, but tells you that she has some +trifling affair—is in her dressing-gown perhaps, or +has not made her hair tidy—that makes your call +slightly inconvenient. Therefore Amory, in her +need, did what the young man would no doubt have +called "an infernally cheeky thing." She repeated +her request once more, and then, seeing another +refusal coming, waited for no further reply, but +pushed past Stan and made direct for Dorothy's +bedroom. Why she should have supposed that +Dorothy would be in her bedroom she could not +have told. She might equally well have been in +the dining-room, or in the pond-room. But along +the passage to the bedroom Amory walked, while +Stan stared in stupefaction after her.</p> + +<p>Dorothy was there. She had not gone to bed, +but, early as it was, appeared to have been preparing +to do so. Amory knew that because, though in +Britomart Belchamber's case a dressing-gown and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> +plaited hair might merely have meant that she +wanted to listen to Walter Wyron's talk in looseness +and comfort, or else that a plaster cast was to be +taken, they certainly did not mean that in Dorothy's. +And she supposed that differences of that kind were +more or less what she had come to see.</p> + +<p>Dorothy was gazing into the fire before which the +youngest Bit had had his bath. Close to her own +chair was drawn the chair that had evidently been +lately occupied by Stan. The infant Bit's cot was +in a corner of the room. At first Dorothy did not +look up from the fire. Probably she supposed the +person who was looking at her from the doorway to +be Stan.</p> + +<p>But as that person neither spoke nor advanced, +she turned her head. The next moment a curious +little sound had come from her lips. You see, in +the first place, she had expected nobody less, and +in the second place, she wholeheartedly shared +many of her worldly old aunt's prejudices, among +which was the monstrous one that established a +connexion between recently-bibbed politicians in +this country and revolver shots in another. And +there was no doubt whatever that her presentable +but brainless young husband had fostered this +fallacious conviction. He might even have gone +so far as to say that Amory herself was not altogether +unresponsible....</p> + +<p>And that, too, in a sense, was what Amory had +come for.</p> + +<p>The eyes of the two women met, Amory's at the +door, Dorothy's startled ones looking over her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> +shoulder; blue ones and shallow brook-brown +ones; and then Dorothy half rose.</p> + +<p>But whatever the first expression of her face had +been, it hardly lasted for a quarter of an instant. +Alarm instantly took its place. She had begun +to get up as a person gets up who would ask another +person what he is doing there. Now it was as if, +though she did not yet know what it was, there was +something to be done, something practical and with +the hands, without a moment's delay.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" she cried. "Cried" is +written, but her exclamation actually gained in +emphasis from the fact that, not to wake the Bit, +she voiced it in a whisper.</p> + +<p>For a moment Amory wondered why she should +speak like that. Then it occurred to her that the +face of a person under spinal anaesthesia might in +itself be a reason. She had forgotten her face.</p> + +<p>"May I come in?" she asked.</p> + +<p>She took Dorothy's "Shut the door—and speak +low, please—what do you want?" as an intimation +that she might. Amory entered. But she was not +asked to sit down. The man who runs with a fire-call, +or fetches a doctor in the night, is not asked to sit +down, and some urgency of that kind appeared to +be Dorothy's conception of Amory's visit.</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" she demanded again.</p> + +<p>Amory herself felt foolish at her own reply. It +was so futile, so piteous, so true. She stood as +helpless as a Bit before Dorothy.</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know," she said.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter? What are you looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> +like that for? Has anything happened to Cosimo?"</p> + +<p>"No. No. No. He's coming home. No. +Nothing's happened."</p> + +<p>"Can I be of use to you?" She was prepared to +be that.</p> + +<p>"No—yes—I don't know——"</p> + +<p>Dorothy's eyes had hardened a little.—"<i>Do</i> +you want something—and if you don't—<i>had</i> you +to come—to-night?"</p> + +<p>Amory spoke quite quickly and eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes—to-night—it had to be to-night—I +had to come to-night——"</p> + +<p>Dorothy's eyes grew harder still.</p> + +<p>"Then I think I know what you mean.... +I don't think we'll talk about it. There's really +nothing to be said.—So——"</p> + +<p>Amory was vaguely puzzled. Of Dorothy's +relation to Sir Benjamin she knew nothing. Dorothy +appeared to be waiting for her to go. That would +mean back to The Witan. But she had come here +expressly to avoid going back to The Witan. Again +she spoke foolishly.</p> + +<p>"Cosimo's coming back," she said.</p> + +<p>"My aunt thought he might be," said Dorothy +in an even voice.</p> + +<p>"And I was going away—but I'm not now——"</p> + +<p>"Oh?"</p> + +<p>"May I sit down?"</p> + +<p>She did so, with her doubled fists thrust between +her knees and her head a little bowed. Then her +eyes wandered sideways slowly round the room. +Dorothy's blouse was thrown on the wide bed;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> +from under the bed the baby Bit's bath peeped; +and on the blouse lay Dorothy's hairbrushes.</p> + +<p>Amory was thinking of another bed, a bed she +had never seen, with portmanteaus on it, and a +patched old waistcoat cast underneath it, and a girl +busily packing at it, a girl whose voice she had +heard pouting "You might buy me a trousseau—"</p> + +<p>Dorothy also had sat down, but only on the edge +of her chair. And she thought it would be best to +speak a little more plainly.</p> + +<p>"If you'll come to-morrow I shall know better +what to say to you," she said. "You see, you've +taken me by surprise. I didn't think you'd come, +and I don't know now what you've come for. It +isn't a thing to talk about, certainly not to-day. +I should have liked to-day to myself. But if you +feel that you must—will you come in again to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>But Amory hardly seemed to hear. Her eyes +were noting the appointments of the bedroom again. +The time had been when she would at once have +denounced the room as overcrowded and unhygienic. +A cot, and a bed with two pillows ... in some +respects her own plan was to be preferred. But +this again was the kind of thing she had come to +see, and she admitted that these things were more +or less governed by what people could afford. From +the kicked and scratched condition of the front of +the chest of drawers she imagined that Dorothy's +children must romp all over the flat. A parti-coloured +ball lay under the cot where the baby +slept. There was a rubber bath-doll near it. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> +two older boys would be sleeping in the next room.</p> + +<p>She spoke again.—"I was going away," she +said, dully, "with somebody."</p> + +<p>Once more Dorothy merely said "Oh?"</p> + +<p>Then it occurred to Amory that perhaps Dorothy +did not quite understand.</p> + +<p>"I mean with—with somebody not my husband."</p> + +<p>She had half expected that Dorothy would be +shocked, or at least surprised; but she seemed to +take it quite coolly. Dorothy, as a matter of fact, +was not surprised in the very least. She too guessed +at the futility of looking for a starting-point of +things that grow by inevitable and infinitesimal +degrees. It was rather sad, but not at all astonishing. +On Amory's own premises, there was +simply no reason why she shouldn't. So again she +merely said "Oh?" and added after a moment, +"But you're not?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"How's that? Has what we've heard to-day +made you change your mind?"</p> + +<p>Again Amory was slightly puzzled; and at +Dorothy's question she had, moreover, a sudden +little hesitation. <i>Was</i> it after all necessary that +Dorothy should know everything? Would it not +be sufficient, without going into details, to let +Dorothy suppose she had changed her mind? +It came to the same thing in the end.... Besides, +Edgar Strong had not refused her that night. He +had not even known of her presence in the office. +Of the rest she would make a clean breast, but it was +no good bothering Dorothy with that other....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> +She was still plunged into a sort of stupor, but these +reflections stirred ever so slightly under the surface +of it....</p> + +<p>Then "what we've heard to-day" struck +her. She repeated the words.</p> + +<p>"What we've heard to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you haven't heard.... I only mean +about the murder of my uncle," said Dorothy coldly.</p> + +<p>This was far more than Amory could take in. +She reflected for a moment. Then, "What do you +say, Dorothy?" she asked slowly.</p> + +<p>"At least he wasn't my uncle really. I liked +him better than any of my uncles."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean Sir Benjamin Collins?"</p> + +<p>It was as if Amory had not imagined that Sir +Benjamin could by any possibility have been +anybody's uncle.</p> + +<p>"I called him uncle," said Dorothy, in a voice +that she tried to keep steady. "Before I could say +the word—I called him——." But she decided not +to risk the baby-word she had used—"Unnoo"——</p> + +<p>It seemed to Amory a remarkable little coincidence.</p> + +<p>"I—I didn't know," she said stupidly.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"You—you mean you—knew him?——"</p> + +<p>"Oh ... oh yes."</p> + +<p>Amory said again that she hadn't known....</p> + +<p>"Then why," Dorothy would have liked to cry +aloud, "<i>have</i> you come, if it isn't to make matters +worse by talking about it? That wouldn't have +surprised me very much! I should have been quite +prepared for you to apologize! It's the kind of thing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> +you would do. I don't think very much of you, you +see"... But again that worse than frightened +look on her visitor's face struck her sharply, and +again a remark of her aunt's returned to her: +"They puzzle their brains till their bodies suffer, +and overwork their bodies till they're little better +than fools." Suddenly she gave her sometime friend +more careful attention.</p> + +<p>"Amory—," she said all at once.</p> + +<p>Amory had her fists between her knees again.—"What?" +she said without looking up.</p> + +<p>"You just said something about—going away. +I want to ask you something. You haven't ...?"</p> + +<p>The meaning was quite plain.</p> + +<p>As if she had been galvanized, Amory looked +sharply up.—"How dare——", she began.</p> + +<p>But it was only a flash in the pan. Dorothy +was looking into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"You're telling me the truth?" She hated to +ask the question.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Amory mumbled, dropping her head +again.</p> + +<p>"Has Cosimo been unkind to you?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Nor neglected you?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Has—has anybody been unkind to you?" She +could not speak of "somebody" by name.</p> + +<p>Here Amory hesitated, and finally lied. It was +rather a good sign that she did so. It meant returning +animation....</p> + +<p>"No," she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then what <i>has</i> happened?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. That's what I asked myself. That's +just it. Nothing. Nothing at all's happened."</p> + +<p>Dorothy spoke in a low voice, as if to herself.—"I +know," she murmured....</p> + +<p>And, on the chance that she really did know, +Amory clutched at the sleeve of Dorothy's dressing-gown +almost excitedly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's what I mean ... you do know?" +she asked in a quick whisper.</p> + +<p>"Yes—no—I'm not sure——"</p> + +<p>"But you <i>do</i> know that—nothing happening, nothing +at all, and everything happening—everything? +That's what I mean—that's what I want to know—that's +why I came——"</p> + +<p>"Don't speak so loudly. Put your hands to the +fire; they're like ice. Wait; I'll get you a shawl; +you're shivering.... Now I want you to tell me +some things...."</p> + +<p>And, first wrapping her up and putting Stan's +pillow behind her back, she began to question her.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>What, again, was the purport of her questions? +What of those of her aunt? What of those of a good +many others in an age that is producing, and for +some mysterious reason or other counts it a sign of +progress to produce, innumerable Amorys—so many +that, stretch out your hand where you will, and you +will touch one?</p> + +<p>All is guessing: but it will pass on the time if we +hold a Meeting about it now. Everybody is agreed +that the way to arrive at the best conclusions is to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> +hold a Meeting, and this will be only one more +Meeting added to the cloud of Meetings in which the +"Novum" went up and out—the Meeting which, as +Edgar Strong had prophesied, the loyal London +Indians held (in the Imperial Institute) in order to +dissociate themselves from the Collins affair (as +Edgar Strong had also prophesied, Mr. Wilkinson +moved an amendment, "That this Meeting declines +to dissociate itself, etc. etc.")—the numerous secondary +Meetings that arose out of that Meeting—the +Meetings of the "Novum's" creditors (for Edgar +Strong in his haste to be off had omitted to pay all +the bills)—the Meetings at which (Cosimo Pratt +having withdrawn his support) the Eden and the +Suffrage Shop had to be reconstructed—the Meetings +convened to talk about this, that and the other—as +many of them as you like.</p> + +<p>Let us too, then, hold a nice, jolly Meeting, in +order to find out what was the matter with Amory—a +Meeting with Mr. Brimby in the Chair, to tell us +that there is a great deal to be said on both sides, +and that no party has a monopoly of Truth, and +that the words that ought always to be on our lips +as we hurl ourselves into the thickest and hottest of +the fray, whatever it may be, are "To know all is to +forgive all."</p> + +<p>But let us keep our Meeting as quiet as we can, for +we shall have no end of a crowd of Meeting-lovers +there if we don't. The Wyrons will of course have +to be admitted, and Mr. Wilkinson, and Dickie +Lemesurier, and a few of the older students of the +McGrath; but we do not particularly want the others—those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> +who feel that in a better and brighter world +they would have been students of the McGrath, but, +as matters stand, are merely young clerks who can +draw a little, young salesmen who can write a little, +young auctioneers with an instinct for the best in +sculpture, young foremen who yearn to express +themselves in music, young governesses (or a few of +them) who have heard of the enormous sums of +money to be made by playwriting, New Imperialists, +amateur regenerators, social prophets after working-hours, +and, in a word, all the people who have just +heard that it is not true that Satan is yet bound up +for his promised stretch of a thousand years. +A terrible number of them will get in whether we +wish it or not; but let the rest be our own little +party; and you shall sit next to Britomart Belchamber, +and I will stand by to open the windows +in case we feel the need of a little fresh air.</p> + +<p>So Mr. Brimby will open the proceedings. He will +say the things above-mentioned, and presently, with +emotion and his sense of the world's sorrow gaining +on him, will come to the case of their dear friend +Amory Pratt. Here, he will say, is a young woman, +one of themselves, who does not know what is the +matter with her—who does not know what has become +of her joy—who cannot understand (if Mr. +Brimby may be allowed to express himself a little +poetically) why the bloom of her life has turned to +an early rime. And so (Mr. Brimby will continue), +knowing that if two heads are better than one, two +hundred heads must be just one hundred times better +still, their friend has submitted her case to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> +Meeting. He will beg them to approach that case +sympathetically. Let the extremists of the one part +(if there be any) balance the extremists of the other, +leaving as an ideal and beautiful middle nullity those +words he had used before, but did not apologize for +using again—to know all is to forgive all. And with +these few remarks (if we are lucky), Mr. Brimby will +say no more, but will call upon their friend Mr. +Walter Wyron to state his view of their friend's case.</p> + +<p>Then Walter will get up, with his hands in the +pockets of his knickers, and it will not be his fault +if he does not get off an epigram or two of the "Love +is Law" kind. But you will not fail to notice that +Walter is not his ordinary jaunty self. The withdrawal +of Cosimo's support is going to hit him +rather hard, and glances will be exchanged, and one +or two will whisper behind their hands, "Isn't +Walter beginning to live a little on his reputation?" +Still, Walter will contribute his quotum. We shall +hear that, in his opinion, the Cause of Synthetic +Protoplasm is making such vast strides to-day that +we must revise every one of our estimates in the +light of the most recent knowledge, having done +which we shall probably find that what is really the +matter with Amory is that, by comparison with the +mechanical appliances of Loeb and Delage—appliances +which he will take leave to call the Womb of +the Workshop—their friend Amory is over-vitalized.</p> + +<p>Then Mr. Wilkinson will spring to his feet. And +Mr. Wilkinson also will be more than a little sore +about Cosimo's cowardly backsliding. He will say +first of all that their Chairman, as usual, is talking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> +out of his hat, and that anybody with a grain of +sense knew that to know all was to have a contempt +for all; and then he will point out that all the +trouble had come of shillyshallying with the wrong +policy. Under Strong's direction of the "Novum," +he will say, Amory had been hitting the air to no +purpose; whereas had he, Mr. Wilkinson, been +allowed a chance, they would have had the proletariat +armed with rifles by this, and Pratt's wife would +have been a <i>tricoteuse</i>, doing a bit of knitting conspiratoriably +and domestically useful at one and the +same time—would have worn a Phrygian cap, and +carried a pike, and sung "A la Lanterne," and put +a bit of fire into the men! That's what she ought +to have done, and have had a bit of a run for her +money, instead of shillyshallying about with that +idiot Strong——</p> + +<p>And then a maiden speech will be given us. Mr. +Raffinger, of the McGrath, will get timidly but +resolutely up, and we shall all applaud him when +he says that the bad old <i>régime</i> at the McGrath +was at the bottom of all the mischief. The stupid +old Professors of the past had tried to drill instruction +into the students instead of allowing each one to do +exactly as he pleased and so to find his own soul. +Amory had been crushed under the cruel old Juggernaut +of discipline. But that, happily, was a thing +of the past at the McGrath. Now they went on the +more enlightened principles laid down by Séguin, +who cured a child of destructiveness by giving it a +piece of priceless Venetian glass to play with, and +when he broke it gave it another unique piece, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> +then another, and another after that, and another, +until by degrees the child learned, <i>and would never +have to unlearn</i> (that was the important thing!) that it +was very naughty to break valuable Venetian glass. +(A "Hear hear" from Mr. Brimby, which will +probably prove so disconcerting to young Mr. +Raffinger that he will sit down as suddenly as if Mr. +Wilkinson had discharged two bullets at him).</p> + +<p>And then Laura Wyron will speak, saying tremulously +that she can't understand why Amory isn't +happy when she has those two lovely babies; but +she is not happy, and never will be again, because +she has turned her back on her art; and Britomart +Belchamber (who will be hoisted to her feet because +she has lived in the same house with Amory, and may +have something interesting and intimate to say) will +doubt whether Amory has always quite closed the +sweat-ducts with a cold sponge; and then the crowd +will rush in—the governess playwrights will say what +they think, the clerk sculptors what they think, +and everybody else what he or she thinks—and +presently they will have strayed a little from the +business in hand, and will be discussing Cubism, or +Matriarchy, or Toe-posts, or the Revival of the +Ballad, or Rufty Tufty, quite beyond Mr. Brimby's +power to hale them back to the proper subject. And +so the Meeting will have to be adjourned, and +we shall all go again to-morrow night, when Mr. +Wilkinson will be in the Chair, and there ought to be +some fun——</p> + +<p>But Edgar Strong will not be there, because he +will be on the water, and Cosimo will not be there,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> +because he will be anxiously counting what money +remains to him, and Mr. Prang will not be there, +because he will be under arrest in Bombay. +But, except for these absences, it will be a perfectly +ripping Meeting——</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>But none of these things were Dorothy's business. +Instead, by the time she had finished her questioning +of Amory, there was no thought at all in her breast, +save only the pitiful desire to help. She saw before +her an old young woman, more drained and disillusioned +and with less to look forward to at +thirty-odd than her aunt had at seventy. Her +very presence in Dorothy's house that night was a +confession of it. It was the last house she would +willingly have gone to, and yet there she was, begging +Dorothy to tell her what had happened to +her. And there was nothing for Dorothy to say +in reply....</p> + +<p>She knew that Stan, in the dining-room, was waiting +to come to bed, but he must wait; Dorothy had +the fire to mend, and Amory's cold hands to chafe, +and to get her something hot to drink, and a dozen +other things to do that had never had a beginning +either, yet there they were, mere helpful habit and +nothing more. Presently she set a cup of hot soup +to Amory's lips.</p> + +<p>"Drink this," she said, "and when you're rested +my husband will take you home."</p> + +<p>But that did not happen either. Amory spoke +very tiredly.</p> + +<p>"I should like—I don't want to trouble you—anywhere<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> +would do—but I don't want to go home +to-night——"</p> + +<p>Dorothy made a swift and doubting mental +calculation. Where could she put her?——</p> + +<p>"I'm simply done up," muttered Amory closing +her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid we could only give you a shakedown +in the dining-room——"</p> + +<p>"Yes—that would do——"</p> + +<p>Dorothy went out to give Stan his orders. Stan +swore. "Rather cool, one of <i>that</i> crew coming here, +to-night of all nights!" But Dorothy was peremptory.</p> + +<p>"It isn't cool at all. You don't know anything +about it. You'll find blankets in the chest in your +dressing-room, and mind you don't wake Noel. +Then get some cushions—I'll air a pillowcase—and +then you must go up there and tell them where she +is—they'll be anxious——"</p> + +<p>"Shall I bring those twins of hers back with me +while I'm about it?" Stan asked satirically. "May +as well put the lot up."</p> + +<p>When he heard Dorothy's reply he thought that +his wife really had gone mad.</p> + +<p>"I've arranged that," she said. "We shall be +putting the twins up for a time at Ludlow by and +by while she and her husband go away somewhere +for a change. It's the least we can do. Don't +stand gaping there, Stan——"</p> + +<p>"Hm! May I ask what's up?"</p> + +<p>"You may if you like, but I shan't tell you."</p> + +<p>"Hm!... Well—it's a dog's life—but I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> +suppose it's no good my saying anything——"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit."</p> + +<p>So Amory was put to bed, most unhygienically, +in Dorothy's dining-room; but in the middle of +the night she woke, quite unable to remember where +she was. There was a narrow opening between +the drawn curtains; through it a glimmer of +light shone on the Venetian blinds from the street-lamp +outside; and without any other light Amory +got out of her improvised couch. She felt her way +along the wall to a switch, and then suddenly flooded +the room with light.</p> + +<p>Blinking, she looked around. She herself wore +one of Dorothy's nightgowns. On Stan's armchair, +near his pipe-rack, was her hat, and her clothing +lay in a heap where she had stepped out of +it. Dorothy's slippers lay by the fender, and +Dorothy had been too occupied to remember to +remove the photograph of Uncle Ben from the +mantelpiece. It seemed to be watching Amory as +she stood, only half awake, in her borrowed nightgown.</p> + +<p>It was odd, the way things came about——</p> + +<p>If you had asked Amory at six o'clock the evening +before where she intended to spend the night, she +would not have replied "In Dorothy Tasker's +flat——"</p> + +<p>But she felt frightfully listless, and the improvised +bed was very warm——</p> + +<p>She switched off the light and crept back.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span></p> +<h2>TAILPIECE</h2> + + +<p>Along the terrace of the late Sir Noel Tasker's +house—"The Brear," Ludlow—there rushed +a troop of ten or twelve urchins. They were dressed +anyhow, in variously-coloured jerseys, shirts, jackets +and blazers, and the legs of half of them were +bare, and brown as sand. Their ages varied from +five to fifteen, and it is hardly necessary to say that +as they ran they shouted. A retriever, two Irish +terriers, an Airedale and a Sealyham tore barking +after them. It was a July evening, amber and +windless, and the shouting and barking diminished +as the horde turned the corner of the long low +white house and disappeared into the beech plantation. +Their tutor was enjoying a well-earned pipe +in the coach-house.</p> + +<p>From the tall drawing-room window there stepped +on to the terrace a group of older people. The +sound of wheels slowly ascending the drive could +be heard. Lady Tasker came out first; she was +followed by Cosimo and Amory and Dorothy and +Stan. A little pile of labelled bags stood under the +rose-grown verandah; the larger boxes had already +gone on to the station by cart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span></p> + +<p>Stan took a whistle from his pocket and blew +two shrill blasts; then he drew out his watch. +The sounds of shouting drew near again.</p> + +<p>"I give 'em thirty seconds," Stan remarked.... +"Twenty-five, twenty-six—leg it, Corin!—ah; +twenty-eight!... Company—fall in!"</p> + +<p>The young Tims and the young Tonys, Corin and +Bonniebell and the terriers, stood (dogs and all, save +for their tails) stiff as ramrods. Stan replaced his +watch. He had been fishing, and still wore his +tweed peaked cap, with a spare cast or two wound +round it.</p> + +<p>"Company—'Shun! Stand a-a-at—ease! 'S +you were! Stand a-a-at—ease! Stand easy.... +Tony, fall out and see to the bags. Tim, hold the +horse. Corin—Corin!—What do you keep in the +trenches?"</p> + +<p>"Silence," piped up Corin. He had a rag round +one brown knee, his head was half buried in an old +field-service cap, and he refused to be parted, day nor +night, from the wooden gun he carried.</p> + +<p>"Not so much noise then.—Who hauls down the +flag to-night?"</p> + +<p>"Billie."</p> + +<p>"Billie stand by. The rest of you dismiss, but +don't go far—'Evening, Richards——"</p> + +<p>The trap drew up in front of the house. Tim +held the horse's head, Tony stood among the bags. +The leavetaking began.</p> + +<p>Amory and Cosimo were going to Cumberland for +the rest of the summer. They would have liked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> +to go to Norway, but the money would no longer +run to it. They seemed a little shy of one another. +They had been at the Brear a fortnight, and had +had the little room over the porch. The twins were +remaining behind for the present. Dorothy had +said they would be no trouble. This was entirely +untrue. They were more trouble than all the rest +put together. Corin, near the schoolroom window, +was wrangling with an eight years old Woodgate +now.</p> + +<p>"They do, there! On Hampstead Heath! I've +seen them, an' they've hats, an' waterbottles, an' +broomsticks!"</p> + +<p>"Pooh, broomsticks! My father has a big +elephant-gun!"</p> + +<p>"Well ... mine goes to great big Meetings, an' +says 'Hear hear!'"</p> + +<p>"My father's in India!"</p> + +<p>"Well, so was mine!"</p> + +<p>"<i>I've</i> seen them troop the Colour at the Horse +Guards' Parade!"</p> + +<p>"So've I!" Corin mendaciously averred.</p> + +<p>The other boy opened his eyes wide and protruded +his mouth. It is rarely that one boy does not know +when another boy is lying.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what a big one! <i>You'd</i> catch it if Uncle +Stan heard you!"</p> + +<p>"Well," Corin pouted, "—I will—or else I'll +cry all night—hard—and I'll make Bonnie cry +too!—"</p> + +<p>"Well, an' so shall I, again, an' then I'll have seen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> +it twice, an' you'll only have seen it once, an' if I see +it every time you do you'll <i>never</i> have seen it as often +as me!"</p> + +<p>Then Stan's voice was heard.</p> + +<p>"Corin, come here."</p> + +<p>It was an atmosphere of insensate militarism, +but the Pratts were content to leave their offspring +to breathe it for the present. They had another +matter to attend to—their own marital relations. +It had at last occurred to them that you cannot +rule others until you can govern yourself, and they +were going to see what could be done about it. +They had secured a cottage miles away from anywhere, +at the head of a narrow-gauge railway, and +it remained to be seen whether quiet and privacy +and the resources they might find within themselves +would avail them better than the opposites of these +things had done. There was just the chance that +they might—their only chance. The twins, if all +went well, would join them by and by. In the +meantime they must see red, and learn to do things +with once telling.</p> + +<p>So Amory took the struggling Corin into her +arms—he wanted to go to the armoury of wooden +guns—and kissed him. Then he ran unconcernedly +off. Dorothy saw the sad little lift of Amory's +bosom, guessed the cause, and laughed.</p> + +<p>"Shocking little ingrates!" she said. "Noel's +joy when I go away is sometimes indecent.—But +don't be afraid they'll be any trouble to us here. +You see the rabble we have in any case."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's very good of you," Amory murmured +awkwardly.</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the sort. Stan loves to manage +them—it keeps his hand in for managing me, he +says.... Now, I don't want to hurry you, but +you'd better be off if you're going to get as far as +Liverpool to-night. Good-bye, dear——"</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Dorothy——"</p> + +<p>"So long, Pratt—up with those bags, Tim——"</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Bonnie——"</p> + +<p>"Corin! Corin!—(Hm! See if I don't have +you in hand in another week or two, my boy!)—Come +and say good-bye to your father."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Lady Tasker——"</p> + +<p>"All right?"</p> + +<p>The wheels crunched; hands were waved; the +rabble gave a shockingly undisciplined cheer; +and young Arthur Woodgate, who had run along +the terrace and stood holding the gate at the end +open, saluted. Stan took out his watch again.</p> + +<p>"Four minutes to sunset," he announced.</p> + +<p>But there was no need to tell Billie to stand by to +strike the flag that hung motionless above the gable +where the old billiard-room and gun-room had been +thrown together to make the schoolroom. The +halyards were already in his hands.</p> + +<p>"Here, Corin," Stan called, "you shall fire the +gun to-night."</p> + +<p>Corin gave a wild yell of joy. Well out of reach, +there was an electric button on one of the rose-grown +verandah posts. Stan lifted his newest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> +recruit to it, who put a finger-tip on it and shut his +eyes——</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Bang!</span>" went the little brass carronade in the +locked enclosure behind the woodshed——</p> + +<p>And hand over hand Billie hauled the flag +down.</p> + +<p>But it would be run up again in the morning.</p> + +<hr /> +<p class="center"><i>Printed by</i> <span class="smcap">Butler & Tanner</span>, <i>Frome and London</i>.</p> +<hr /> + +<p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 5em;"><i>SPRING 1914</i></span></p> + +<h2>METHUEN'S POPULAR NOVELS</h2> +<h4>Crown 8vo, 6s. each</h4> + + +<p><big><b>IT HAPPENED IN EGYPT</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By C. N. and <span class="smcap">A. M. Williamson</span>, Authors of 'The +Heather Moon,' 'The Lightning Conductor,' etc.</p></div> + +<p>This book tells, in the charming manner of the authors, a story of entrancing +interest for travellers in Egypt and for home-dwellers too. A +young English diplomatist finds himself compelled by an unusual combination +of circumstances to become the temporary conductor of a party of +tourists cruising on the Mediterranean and seeing Egypt. His strange +new duties plunge him into the midst of adventures both comic and +serious. He composes quarrels, intervenes in love affairs, baffles the +agents of a secret society, conducts his charges successfully up the Nile +to Khartoum, and in the end finds love and treasure both for himself and +a faithful friend.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>CHANCE</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Joseph Conrad</span>, Author of 'The Nigger of the +"Narcissus."'</p></div> + +<p>In this new romance, which Mr. Conrad unfolds in his fascinating and +curious way, partly by monologue, partly by narrative, we find the author +of <i>Lord Jim</i> again revealing one of those strange cases of human passion +and disaster which he alone, of living writers, can present. The sea is in +the book, but it is not entirely a book of the sea.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>WHOM GOD HATH JOINED</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Arnold Bennett</span>, Author of 'Clayhanger.'</p></div> + +<p>This is a re-issue of one of Mr. Bennett's most famous novels.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>THE WAY HOME</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Basil King</span>, Author of 'The Wild Olive.'</p></div> + +<p>This is the story, minutely and understandingly told, of a sinner, his life +and death. He is an ordinary man and no hero, and the final issue raised +concerns the right of one who has persistently disregarded religion during +his strength, in accepting its consolations when his end is near: a question +of interest to every one. The book, however, is not a tract, but a very +real novel.<span class="pagenum">[Pg 2]</span></p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>OLD ANDY</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Dorothea Conyers</span>, Author of 'Sandy Married,' etc.</p></div> + +<p>No one knows rural Ireland and its humours better than Mrs. Conyers, +whose intensely Hibernian stories are becoming so well known, and throw +such amusing light on that eternal and delightful Ireland which never gets +into the papers or politics. In <i>Old Andy</i> there is a very charming vein of +sentiment as well as much fun and farce.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>THE GOLDEN BARRIER</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Agnes</span> and <span class="smcap">Egerton Castle</span>, Authors of 'If Youth +but Knew.'</p></div> + +<p>The main theme of this romance is the situation created by the marriage—a +marriage of love—of a comparatively poor man, proud, chivalrous, and +tender, to a wealthy heiress: a girl of refined and generous instincts, but +something of a wayward 'spoilt child,' loving to use the power which her +fortune gives her to play the Lady Mæcenas to a crowd of impecunious +flatterers, fortune hunters, and unrecognized geniuses. On a critical +occasion, thwarted in one of her mad schemes of patronage by her husband, +who tries to clear her society of these sycophants and parasites, she +petulantly taunts him with having been a poor man himself, who happily +married money. Outraged in his love and pride, he offers her the choice +of coming to share his poverty or of living on, alone, amid her luxuries. +There begins a conflict of wills between these two, who remain in love +with each other—prolonged naturally, and embittered, by the efforts of +the interested hangers-on to keep the inconvenient husband out of Lady +Mæcenas' house—but ending in a happy surrender on both sides.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>THE HAPPY HUNTING GROUND</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Alice Perrin</span>, Author of 'The Anglo-Indians.'</p></div> + +<p>A lively and entertaining story of Anglo-Indian life dealing with the +matrimonial adventures of a young lady whose forbears have all been +connected with the Indian services, and who is sent out to India to find a +husband in her own class of life, but marries an official of humble origin +ignorant of the circumstances of his birth. Troubles and disappointments, +which come near to real tragedy, end in the triumph of grit and sincerity +over social barriers.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>THE FLYING INN</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">G. K. Chesterton</span>.</p></div> + +<p>This story is partly a farcical romance of the adventures of the last +English Inn-keeper, when all Western Europe had been conquered by the +Moslem Empire and its dogma of abstinence from wine. It might well +be called 'What Might Have Been,' for it was sketched out before the +legend of the Invincible Turk was broken. It involves a narrative development +which is also something of a challenge in ethics. The lyrics +called 'Songs of the Simple Life,' which appeared in <i>The New Witness</i>, +are sung between the Inn-keeper and his friend, the Irish Captain, who +are the principal characters in the romance.<span class="pagenum">[Pg 3]</span></p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>THE WAY OF THESE WOMEN</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">E. Phillips Oppenheim</span>, Author of 'The Missing +Delora.'</p></div> + +<p>In this story Mr. Phillips Oppenheim, who is never content to remain in +the same rut for long, has boldly deserted the somewhat complicated +mechanism which goes to the making of the modern romance. He has +contented himself with weaving a tensely written story around one Event, +and concentrating the whole love interest of the book upon two people. +The Event in itself is one simple enough, its use in fiction almost hackneyed, +yet the circumstances surrounding it are so tragical and surprising, its +hidden history so unexpected, that it easily serves as the pivot of an +interest arresting from the first, startling in its latter stages, almost breathless +in its last development.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>A CROOKED MILE</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Oliver Onions</span>, Author of 'The Two Kisses.'</p></div> + +<p>This is a story of a very modern marriage following the author's previous +story, <i>The Two Kisses</i>, of a very modern courtship. In it two <i>ménages</i> are +contrasted, the one run on new and liberal and enlightened lines, the other +still dominated by the ideas of the benighted past. What the difference +between them comes to in the end depends entirely on the interpretation +put upon the story, but the comedy 'note' speaks for itself. It may be +remembered that <i>The Two Kisses</i> touches on the foibles of certain artists. +<i>A Crooked Mile</i> deals with the vagaries of a certain airy amateurism in +Imperial Politics.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>THE SEA CAPTAIN</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">H. C. Bailey</span>, Author of 'The Lonely Queen.'</p></div> + +<p>One of the great company of Elizabethan seamen is the hero of this +novel. There is, however, no attempt at glorifying him or his comrades. +Mr. Bailey has endeavoured to mingle realism with the romance of the +time. Captain Rymingtowne is presented as no crusader but something of +a merchant, something of an adventurer and a little of a pirate. He has +nothing to do with the familiar tales of the Spanish Main and the Indies. +His voyages were to the Mediterranean when the Moorish corsairs were at +the height of their power, and of them and their great leaders, Kheyr-éd-din +Barbarossa and Dragut Reis, the story has much to tell. Captain +Rymingtowne was concerned in the famous Moorish raid to capture the +most beautiful woman in Europe and in the amazing affair of the Christian +prisoners at Alexandria.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>FIREMEN HOT</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">C. J. Cutcliffe Hyne</span>, Author of 'The Adventures +of Captain Kettle.'</p></div> + +<p>In <i>Firemen Hot</i>, Mr. Cutcliffe Hyne has added three clearly etched +portraits to a gallery which already contains those marine 'musketeers,' +Thompson, McTodd, and Captain Kettle. The marine fireman is probably +at about the bottom of the social scale, but, in Mr. Hyne's pages, he is +very much the human being. In each chapter the redoubtable trio play +before a different background, but whether they are in New Orleans or +Hull, in Vera Cruz or Marseilles, one can tell in a paragraph that the<span class="pagenum">[Pg 4]</span> +author is writing of his ground from first-hand knowledge, and his characters +from intimate and joyous study of them. A few Captain Kettle +stories have been added.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>SIMPSON</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Elinor Mordaunt</span>, Author of 'The Cost of It.'</p></div> + +<p>Simpson is a retired business man in the prime of life, who, beneath a +rugged exterior, possesses a sympathetic heart. Yet, finding no woman to +fill it, he organizes a bachelor's club of congenial spirits and leases a fine +old English country estate, there to live in <i>dolce far niente</i> untroubled by +feminism in any form. How first one member of the club and then another +drops away for sentimental reasons until only Simpson is left, and then his +final capitulation to the only woman—all this makes a delightful bit of +comedy. The book, however, is more than a comedy. Running through +it is a sound knowledge of human life and character, and the writing is +always brilliant. It is a book out of the ordinary in every way.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>TWO WOMEN</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Max Pemberton</span>, Author of 'The Mystery of the +Green Heart.'</p></div> + + +<p><br /><big><b>DAVID AND JONATHAN IN THE +RIVIERA</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">L. B. Walford</span>, Author of 'Mr. Smith.'</p></div> + +<p>Two simple, unsophisticated bachelors, respectively minister and elder of +a Scotch country parish, go to the Riviera for health's sake, and the rich +and jovial 'Jonathan,' older by fifteen years than his friend, means to have +a merry time, and to force the reluctant, shy, and sensitive 'David' into +having a merry time too. He 'opines' that David needs waking up. +Jonathan Buckie reminds us of Mrs. Walford's earlier hero 'Mr. Smith,' +but unluckily his heart of gold is not united to the latter's personal charms, +and he continually jars upon his companion, especially when making new +acquaintances. His habit of doing this in and out of season eventually +leads to disaster, and both men pass through a never-to-be-forgotten +experience of the sirens of the South before they return home. An old +Scotch serving-man, who attends Mr. Buckie as valet, plays no small part +in the story, and his sardonic comments, grim humour, and the way in +which he handles his master, whose measure he has taken to a nicety, +make many amusing episodes.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>THE ORLEY TRADITION</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Ralph Straus</span>.</p></div> + +<p>The Orleys are an old noble family, once powerful, but now living +quietly in a corner of England (Kent). They do nothing at all, in spite +of people's endeavours to make them reach to the older heights. But they +are happy in their retirement, and the real reason for this is that they have +few brains. John Orley, the hero, has all the family characteristics, and +is preparing himself for a humdrum country life, when he meets with an +accident which prevents him from playing games, etc. He becomes ambitious, +goes out into the world, and—fails at everything. He recovers +his strength, and sees the mistake he has made, and the book ends as it +began, the Orley Tradition holding true.<span class="pagenum">[Pg 5]</span></p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>ON THE STAIRCASE</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Frank Swinnerton</span>.</p></div> + +<p>The scene of Mr. Frank Swinnerton's new novel is set in the heart of +London, in the parish of Holborn. The reproduction of manners, and +the revelation by this means of the spirit underlying those manners, forms +the framework of a story of passion. In the main, therefore, <i>On the Staircase</i> +is a romance with a clearly defined setting of commonplace happenings, +in which the loves of Barbara Gretton and Adrian Velancourt are +shown in conflict with the action of circumstance. The book is in no +sense photographic, but it has value as a social picture, being based upon +genuine observation.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>MAN AND WOMAN</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">L. G. Moberly</span>, Author of 'Joy.'</p></div> + +<p>This story, which is based on Tennyson's lines—'The woman's cause is +man's, they rise or sink together'—has for its chief character a woman who +takes the feminist view that man is the enemy; a view from which she is +ultimately converted. Another prominent character is one whose love is +given to a weak man, her axiom being that love takes no heed of the +worthiness or unworthiness of its object. The scene is laid partly in +London, partly in a country cottage, and partly in India during the +Durbar of the King-Emperor.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>MAX CARRADOS</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Ernest Bramah</span>, Author of 'The Wallet of Kai +Lung.'</p></div> + +<p>Max Carrados is blind, but in his case blindness is more than counter-balanced +by an enormously enhanced perception of the other senses. How +these serve their purpose in the various difficulties and emergencies that +confront the wealthy amateur when, through the instigation of his friend +Louis Carlyle, a private inquiry agent, he devotes himself to the elucidation +of mysteries, is the basis of Mr. Ernest Bramah's new book. The adventures +that ensue range from sensational tragedy to romantic comedy as the +occasions rise.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>THE MAN UPSTAIRS</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">P. G. Wodehouse</span>, Author of 'The Little Nugget.'</p></div> + +<p>Under this title Mr. Wodehouse has collected nineteen of the short +stories written by him in the past four years. Mr. Wodehouse is one of +the few English short-story writers with an equally large public on both +sides of the Atlantic: but only two of these stories have an American +setting. All except one of this collection are humorous, and some idea of +the variety of incident of the remainder may be gathered from the fact that +their heroes include a barber, a gardener, an artist, a playwriter, a tramp, +a waiter, an hotel clerk, a golfer, a stockbroker, a butler, a bank clerk, an +assistant master at a private school, an insurance clerk, a peer's son who +is also a leading member of a First League Association football team, +and a Knight of King Arthur's Round Table who is neither brave nor +handsome.<span class="pagenum">[Pg 6]</span></p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>SQUARE PEGS</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Charles Inge</span>, Author of 'The Unknown Quantity.'</p></div> + +<p>This novel raises again the absorbing question as to what is failure and +what success. It tells how a big man from South Africa sets out to conquer +London—the London of the Lobby and the Clubs—with a threepenny +weekly paper and sympathy for the unemployed; how he fails, but in +failure wins his woman; how she too suffers in the London of women +workers. There is, on the other side, the little solicitor who calculates +for and succeeds by the other's failure; but in succeeding loses. The +background includes the life drama of an enthusiast for Labour reform.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>MESSENGERS</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Margaret Hope</span>, Author of 'Christina Holbrook.'</p></div> + +<p>A story of the sudden yielding to temptation of a woman of good +position. She suffers for her fault in prison, but her sufferings on release +are ten times greater. She tries her utmost to keep the knowledge of her +guilt from her daughter, a girl just left school, but in vain. The girl, in +a painful scene, demands to be told the truth, and the mother, unable to +bear the sight of her child's misery, flies from home, hoping still in some +way to retrieve the past. But the net of circumstance is too strongly +woven.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>ENTER AN AMERICAN</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By E. <span class="smcap">Crosby-Heath</span>, Author of 'Henrietta taking +Notes.'</p></div> + +<p>The hero of Miss Crosby-Heath's new novel is a self-made American, +who comes to London and enters a Home for Paying Guests. He is an +optimistic philanthropist, and he contrives to help all the English friends +he makes. His own crudity is modified by his London experiences, and +the dull minds of his middle-class English friends are broadened by contact +with his untrammelled personality. A humorous love interest runs +through the book.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>THE FRUITS OF THE MORROW</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Agnes Jacomb</span>, Author of 'The Faith of his +Fathers.'</p></div> + +<p><i>The Fruits of the Morrow</i> is a novel showing the consequences of a man's +and a woman's conduct in the past and how it affects the lives of their +two sons. The other characters of the story are in different degrees +involved in the results of the old romance, but not irredeemably. There +is no hero in the ordinary sense of the word, the four male characters +being of almost equal importance. The action takes place mainly in East +Anglia and during the months of one summer.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>A GIRL FROM MEXICO</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By R. B. <span class="smcap">Townshend</span>, Author of 'Lone Pine.'</p></div> + +<p>Adventures are to the adventurous, and a very young Oxford man +who strikes out for himself in the wild and woolly West is apt to come in +for some lively developments. He gets an exciting start by going partners +with a Mormon-eating American desperado, and when the unsophisticated +youth falls in love with a velvet-eyed Mexican senorita, and then finds<span class="pagenum">[Pg 7]</span> +himself called upon in honour to play the part of Don Quixote, things +begin to get tangled up. Finally he becomes involved in a struggle, not +only with Mormons but with Mexican self-torturers in a great scene on the +Calvary of the Penitentes which forms the climax of the story.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>SARAH MIDGET</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Lincoln Grey</span>.</p></div> + +<p>In the sedate atmosphere of a quiet country town there develop the +later phases of a man's sin, when he has become rich and powerful, and +the woman whom he thrust aside in his early manhood learns, all unconsciously, +to love the son of her successful rival. How Sarah Midget +rises, in the shock of a great tragedy, to supreme heights of self-sacrifice, +is shown in poignant and moving scenes.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>AN ASTOUNDING GOLF MATCH</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By '<span class="smcap">Stancliffe</span>,' Author of 'Fun on the Billiard Table' +and 'Golf Do's and Dont's.'</p></div> + +<p>The narrative of the adventures of two golfers of equal handicaps, but +different styles, who being dissatisfied with the result of two home and home +matches, decide that golf across country from links to links, would be +more scientific and interesting than golf where all the hazards are known. +The troubles that befell them, and how the match came to an abrupt +termination, to the discomfort of one and the joy of the other, are told in +this book.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>BLACKLAW</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By Sir <span class="smcap">George Makgill</span>.</p></div> + +<p>This is a study in temperaments—a contrast between the old and the +new views of the relations between parent and child. Lord Blacklaw +throws up rank and fortune, takes his children to the Colonies to live 'the +Patriarchal Life,' and sacrifices their future to his own impulses. John +Westray, on the other hand, gives up happiness, even life itself, for what +he deems his son's welfare. Each from his own point of view fails, yet +neither life is wholly wasted. The scenes are laid in Scotland, New +Zealand, and in a Cornish Art Colony.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>POTTER AND CLAY</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Stanley Wrench</span>, Author of 'Love's Fool,' +'Pillars of Smoke,' 'The Court of the Gentiles,' etc.</p></div> + +<p>In this story the author returns to the peasant folk of the Midlands whom +she knows so well, and of whom she has written with sympathetic frankness +in several books already. Just now, when the land question is so +much discussed, this novel, dealing in the main with tillers of the soil, +should receive careful attention.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>A ROMAN PICTURE</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Paul Waineman</span>, Author of 'A Heroine from Finland.'</p></div> + +<p>Mr. Paul Waineman, the Finnish novelist who has so far allowed his +pen only to describe his native land Finland, has in his latest work essayed +a new and also very old hunting ground for those in search of romance.<span class="pagenum">[Pg 8]</span> +<i>A Roman Picture</i> is a romantic love story, set in the Mother City of the +world, Rome. The author, from personal experience, shows up in a daring +manner the hatred that still exists between the old and the new Rome. +The heavy shadows and many memories within the vast decaying Roman +palace, haunted by the living presence of the young and beautiful Donna +Bianca Savelli, the last representative of an ancient line, form a pen-picture +which will appeal to the many lovers of Rome.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>THE GIRL ON THE GREEN</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">Mark Allerton</span>, Author of 'Such and Such +Things.'</p></div> + +<p>The atmosphere of the links pervades Mark Allerton's new novel. The +wind from the sea blows fresh through its pages. The heroine is a charming, +high-spirited girl who on her way from college to Bury St. Dunstan's, +has an unexpected excursion into Militancy. The author has no views to +present on the Suffrage Movement; nor, indeed, has his heroine, whose +not-to-be-explained week-end in a police cell gives ample scope for a highly +amusing and exciting story. While <i>The Girl on the Green</i> makes a bid +for general popularity, golfers will find it of particular interest. Mark +Allerton is well known as a writer on the game, and his description of the +great golf match between the hero and heroine will be found full of sly +allusions to topics in the knowledge of all golfers, as well as an uncommonly +racy and exciting finish to a breezy story.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>DICKIE DEVON</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">John Overton</span>, Author of 'Lynette.'</p></div> + +<p>Mr. John Overton's second novel is laid in Worcestershire in the summer +of 1644, and is the story of a young Cavalier, forced by adverse circumstances +to become a spy among the Roundheads. His position is a difficult +and dangerous one, and matters are made worse by the advent of a spoilt +Court beauty, who—mistaking him for another man—imagines herself to +be his wife. Readers of <i>Lynette</i> will welcome the reappearance of the +happy-go-lucky Irishman, Michael Fleming, who plays a leading part in +this romance of love and war.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>THE STORY OF A CIRCLE</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">M. A. Curtois</span>, Author of 'A Summer in Cornwall.'</p></div> + +<p>A story of an experiment in the Occult, in which some ladies who began +by being idly interested in psychical research, find themselves in dangerous +contact with the material necessities of mediums. Much light is cast upon +that strange population of charlatans who grow fat on the credulity of the +foolish in London.</p> + + +<p><br /><big><b>LOTTERIES OF CIRCUMSTANCE</b></big></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By <span class="smcap">R. C. Lynegrove</span>.</p></div> + +<p>This story is laid in Germany, and describes the matrimonial adventures +of two sisters belonging to the impoverished German aristocracy. The +elder, gentle and unselfish, marries into the vulgar domineering family of +Gubbenmeyer. The other, flirtatious and attractive, saves herself and her +family from penury by securing a rich officer, only to jeopardize everything +through her undisciplined and sensuous temperament. +<br /> +<br /></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>I have been charged with the invention of these facetiæ. +Here is the Synthetic Protoplasm idea:—</p> + +<p>"The dream of creating offspring without the concurrence +of woman has always haunted the imagination of the human +race. The miraculous advances which the chemical synthesis +has accomplished in these latter days seem to justify +the boldest hopes, but we are still far from the creation of +living protoplasm. The experiences of Loeb or of Delage +are undoubtedly very confounding. But in order to +produce life these scientists were obliged, nevertheless; to +have recourse to beings already organized. Thousands of +centuries undoubtedly separate us from any possibility of +realizing the most magnificent and most disconcerting dream +ever engendered in the human brain. In the meantime, as +the Torch of Life must be transmitted to the succeeding +generations, woman will continue gloriously to fulfil her +character of mother."—"Problems of the Sexes," Jean +Finot; 12<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> net; p. 352.</p> + +<p>Lightly worked up and chattily treated, this theme, as +Katie said, drew quiet smiles of appreciation from every +cultured audience which Walter addressed.</p></div> + +</div> +<p><br /> +<br /> +<br /></p> +<div class='footnotes'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3> + +<div class="tnote"><p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p></div> + +<div class="tnote"><p>Printer's errors repaired, including:</p> +<ul><li>Page 128, "interestng" corrected to be "interesting" (really interesting detail)</li> +<li>Page 129, "advertisments" corrected to be "advertisements" (advertisements had not)</li> +<li>Page 217, "necesarily" corrected to be "necessarily" (did not necessarily)</li> +<li>Page 219, "relasped" corrected to be "relapsed" (relapsed into silence)</li> +<li>Page 227, "if" corrected to be "it" (take it for)</li> +<li>Page 233, "ideals" corrected to be "ideas" (ideas seem original)</li> +<li>Page 295, "premisses" corrected to be "premises" (own premises)</li> +<li>Page 296, "what "what" corrected to be "what" ("what we've heard)</li> +<li>Page 302, "consspiratoriably" corrected to be "conspiratoriably" (knitting conspiratoriably)</li></ul></div> + +<div class="tnote"><p>Other variable spellings within the text retained, including:</p> +<ul><li>The same word with and without apostrophe, for example: "Golder's Green" and "Golders Green"</li> +<li>The same word with and without accent, for example: "régime" and "regime"</li> +<li>The same word with and without hyphen, for example: "off-handedly" and "offhandedly"</li> +<li>Inconsistent spelling, for example: "by and by" and "by and bye"</li></ul></div> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Crooked Mile, by Oliver Onions + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CROOKED MILE *** + +***** This file should be named 37584-h.htm or 37584-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/5/8/37584/ + +Produced by Judith Wirawan, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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